


Auribus Teneo Lupum

by jairose



Series: Doggie Dean [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Animal Transformation, Collars, Creature Fic, Dog Dean, Familiar Dean Winchester, Familiars, Graphic Description of Corpses, Kinda, Non-Human Dean Winchester, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychic Bond, Season 2 AU, Shapeshifting, Wordcount: Over 150.000, brothers against the world, but this is stress relief writing, canon suicide of not important character, familiar!dean, long fic, she realizes there are many, spoilers for future seasons, the author would like to apologize for the fucks, witch!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 167,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jairose/pseuds/jairose
Summary: Dean's a familiar, sure, but he's no danger to anyone. It's a 50/50 chance if he bites someone that they'll turn, like he did, but he's as likely to bite a person as he is to let a monster go. His fangs are carefully pulled.Sam on the other hand? Well... visions are one thing, everything else that is happening is something else entirely.It all starts with a voicemail on John's phone.[Complete re-write of season 2 with Familiar!Dean]





	1. The Voicemail

**Author's Note:**

> Title Translation: Hold a Wolf by the Ears
> 
> Hey everyone! I have had this written for... well, a while, and I have about half of season 2 written. Updates are probably gonna be sporadic. I will TRY to update once/twice a month, there will be probably 2-3 chapters per episode. It's probably a good idea to go and read "We Go Forward", before starting this, but it's not completely necessary.
> 
> Summary from "We Go Forward": Dean is bitten by a rouge Familiar. He turns. It takes a month for him to make his first transformation, but then he's stuck for another few months. With the help of another Familiar that John knows, he learns that he: needs someone to power him up (and vice versa), can bond with just about any witch (something that could be potentially constent-optional), and is a considerably harmless supernatural creature. The end of season 1 stays the same. John is dead and Dean and Sam try to stitch their lives back together.

There was a voicemail on one of their father’s phone that intrigued Sam.

Which... _well_... wasn’t saying much. It didn’t take much to catch his attention these days.

Sam would have dropped everything for much less than a voicemail. Someone could cough and if it had sounded the tiniest bit like ‘John’ or ‘Winchester’ or a combination of the two he would have pounced on the opportunity. Hell. Someone **had** coughed in the bar one town over and Sam had damn near stared him into blazes.

Ask Dean and he would tell you that Sam might be a little more than obsessed.

Ask Bobby and he’d say the same.

Ask Sam and he’d say it wasn’t enough. It was too little, too late, and it wasn’t enough. Never enough. Always lacking. Neither Dean nor Bobby could convince him otherwise.

To say Sam wasn’t taking their father's death well would be an understatement to the _highest_ degree.  

Since John Winchester's death, Sam had not stopped looking for answers. He was obsessed with finishing what their father started. He was powered by the need for revenge for his girlfriend's senseless death and his father’s mysterious one. Well... perhaps not as mysterious as they all wanted it to believe. Dean had reported a smell of sulphur so stong he’d been sneezing for a week, and the colt had been missing. Both of the brothers had not wanted to speculate too much on **that**. In fact, it needn't be said.

It couldn’t be said. So, all there was left was denial.

Sam **poured** over research night and day. He was going to learn how to read his father’s journals if it killed him. He buried himself in books and the internet and all things that went bump in the night - and for _what_?

Sleepless nights?

Learning a few more phrases of Latin he’d never heard before?

Learning more about his father from his journal than from **any** conversation they’d ever even **had**?

All those thoughts had only led to a swell of bitterness and drinking as he stared at his notes. Which then led to sitting, staring unseeing at the pages in front of him, as he remembered his father, as he remembered the absence, as he remembered the world before and the world now.

So. He searched and searched, and searched.

And the break he was looking for... well, it came in a voicemail.

Sam huffed a laugh. _Go figure._ The one way their family seemed to communicate, even in death. Voicemail.

Now just to tell Dean... which was easier said than done.

Dean was... Dean was - Sam frowned severely at the picture his brother made leaning against his car, checking the dents and bruises to the shell.

Both of them were mourning in... _decidedly_ different ways. Which, Sam couldn’t help but admit, was still strange. Because dog-Dean was different than Hunter-Dean, or even his Brother-Dean. Hunter-Dean would have stayed silent, grumbled, fixed his car, and been a blockhead. No chick-flick moments. Smiled that empty smile, drank his beer, and worked on his car. Maybe thrown a punch if Sam pushed him. Maybe slept with half of the state. Even if Sam didn’t push him.

Be... **Dean**.

Dog-Dean though...

For the past few days while Sam drowned in texts, books, journals, and caffeine and beer; Dean had been a mopey puppy.

It was the only way to describe him.

Slinking every which way with floppy ears and a limp tail. He emoted in a way that Sam was **still** getting used to. Open. Trusting. Unable to hide his true feeling behind his usual mask because they splashed on his face and body like paint. He flopped on the porch and the couch with an air of depression. His tail didn’t wag. His ears rarely perked up. He _rarely_ was human.

Just another thing that worried Sam.

When Dean was himself enough to worry about him. Dean was a dog a lot... a lot **a lot** . When he fancied it, he’d work on the car, but he could only hold human for so long (cause he’d been a person for three days in the hospital and that apparently was **still** a lot) before retreating to the solidarity of his doggie-brain.

Sam suspected that it was easier to grieve as a dog. He almost... wished he could descend to the same kind of simple-minded existence.

Dean had tried to explain it once, but having Dean explain anything to do with feelings... well, that was a laugh.

Sam _hated_ that he got out so easily. And yet... he was also unbelievably relieved.

If Dean didn’t feel this open pit where his stomach should be - then it was better that way; If he didn’t feel sick every time he thought of their father’s face, that disappointed frown, those crinkled eyes when he’d laugh uproariously, or the way his entire body shifted with the seriousness of a situation; if Dean didn’t feel anything that Sam was feeling then he was better off.

Dean got to mooch of his simple-little doggie brain whereas Sam had to deal with all those complicated human emotions the human way. By dealing with grief as he always did: Ploughing head forward into work, researching until his eyes became too tired to stay open, falling asleep to the sound of nothing, thankful that the blankness came with an expiration, and getting blackout drunk.

In sleep, he didn’t dream. When he was exhausted, nightmares fled his mind.

Dean had hit the jackpot.

Mourning in a way Sam had never thought he could. Sleeping, sitting out on the porch and watching sunsets, crawling into bed with Sam when the younger brother fell into his nightly coma; but Sam was about to change that.

When Sam came outside with the voicemail, Dean had started as a dog, but decided hands would be pretty good for holding a phone. He had heard Sam coming, of course, so he’d been pretending to work on his car, looking it over, when Sam found him. Ignorance is bliss.

 **“John.”** A woman’s voice came over the speaker. Cocking his head, Dean turned to look at Sam and his crossed arm, face serious. That pain in his heart hearing his father’s name did that. **“It’s Ellen... Again. Look, don’t be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me.”**

It fizzed and crackled. Nothing more.

“Ellen, huh?,” Dean said, handing the phone back to Sam.

“It’s four months old, too.” Sam said, taking the phone back.

“Huh.” Dean huffed, a prickling behind his eyes. “Dad saved that chicks message for four months?”

“Yeah.”

“Well... then I guess we gotta ask ourselves,” Dean said, walking away. “Who’s Ellen?”

Sam didn’t so much as crack a smile as he followed, explaining his plan. Of course he already had a plan. He’d tracked the phone number to an address, reverse GPS or whatever. If they could get a ride, they could go check it out.

It was a good thing they were in a junkyard.

* * *

Now. Sam was wrong.

It’s not that Dean doesn’t mourn as deeply as Sam does. It’s not.

He may have been young when mom died, but he remembers the pain, even now. Didn’t have the luxury of no memory and instead had a special little place in his head and heart for her. He knows the hole that has opened in his chest, right next to Mom’s, is Dad’s. At least somewhere they are together.

So no, it's not that he doesn’t mourn.

It’s that he hasn’t **started** yet. He keeps pushing it back. Tomorrow, he’ll mourn.

Repeat once tomorrow came.

Sure, he is not exactly up to speed and Sam looks at him with pity when he flops around, too tired to keep walking. Sam thinks it's because of Dad being dead. Sam thinks it's his new way to ‘mourn’ but it's not. Dean knows it's because he’s still healing. He can’t afford to mourn when he’s so fragile physically. In Dog form, he doesn’t have the wounds, but he can feel the tenderness, the weakness. In dog-form, everything is also... simpler. More intense, but simpler.

But it did not transform Dean.

If Sam wants to believe that Dean has just changed so abruptly; Dean’s not going to stop him, because Dean doesn’t know how much he's changed, either. Not only that, but Dean is still too numb to mourn yet. The wounds too fresh. The memories still hot and real in his mind. He’s tired and he can’t muster the courage for tears. Plus, he’s pissed at their father for leaving as he had.

He’s weak and he can’t stare his demons in the face.

He knows this.

So he doesn’t. He doesn’t face the facts. He continues on as if Dad will come waltzing back in their lives after stealing away for months at a time, instead of the weeks he had left them. He remembers his father too clearly to see the blurry-edges of a photo that’s been muddied by time. His father’s face in his mind is crisp, perfect and it **hurts**.

He remembers his final moments with his father. He tries to wipe out the image of John lying on a bed of flames.

He remembers, instead, something altogether worse.

Dad. Leaning over. **_“You have to protect Sammy.”_ ** Telling him that if Sam got out of control... telling him... **_“Cause, if you don’t, then you have to take him out.”_ ** Telling him to kill Sam if it came to that. Him. Kill Sam. **_“It has to be you... You hear me?”_ **

Him. Kill his brother. It’s as unfathomable as any other option that would lead to Sam’s death.

Somedays, Dean can’t even think the words, because there was something else to what Dad had been saying. Something deeper. Something... _sinister_. Something he hadn’t gotten around to telling his sons. Which wasn’t that just the fucking cherry on top of the sunday? Wasn’t that just the last thing the two brothers needed?

Secrets stolen into the grave. It was a fucking laugh, was what it was. The kind that came from deep in your chest when you mourned.

It was just another thing that Dean was ignoring.

“You okay there, Dean?” Sam asked, snapping him out of his rather morbid thoughts.

 _:Doing just dandy._ :

“Hmm.” Sam clearly didn’t believe him, if his side-eye was anything to go by.

They hit a bump in the road and Dean had to scrabble for better seating. The smell of _moldmustyoldleather_ was cleared as he stuffed his nose towards the cracked window.

_:I’m fine, bitch, just keep your eyes on the road, wouldya?:_

Sam snorted, but he complied. His eyes never once shifting over to Dean.

His right hand was another matter.

Dean didn’t know when it had become a _thing_ , but Sam would pet or scratch him right in between his ears, just **right**. And he wasn’t afraid to admit to himself that it made him go a little cross-eyed. Something about the angle, or the simple touch, was enough to make Dean melt into the passenger seat. It was pleasure. Like drinking a beer at the end of a long day, or satisfaction at the end of a hunt, or a hug when he hadn’t been expecting it. Nothing sexual to it, though, Dean knew how to sniff apart those two feelings.

Well.

Now he did.

Now that he let himself have _this_.

This... This almost-kinda chick-flick moment.

Human-Dean would never have allowed his brother to just... touch him. Dog-Dean was a different story. Dog-Dean and Sam were a different story. The relationship between the two of them... not just brotherly. There was something else. A power dynamic that Dean knew was awkward and fumbling, but necessary. They were still working it out, but as long as they didn’t think too deeply about it - they worked.

Sam saw the change, too, but he was smart enough not to say anything. With his eyes closed, Dean never saw the small smile peak on Sam’s face.

He’d always wanted a dog, after all, maybe he’d just have to settle for Dean as brother and dog.

* * *

Sam pulled up to the building in the big old minivan they’d borrowed from Bobby. Dean had refused to say anything more about the van beside it being an embarrassment to all vehicle kind but dutifully stuck his head out to smell what he could, contribute what he could. Flop his tongue and enjoy the wind, too.

 _natureColdWetMudRainRainCleanBird_ And so the smells went. A constant litany, a constant chant, of names for smells he knew and things he could only approximate.

When they pulled up to the place it was clear the place wasn’t in the best of conditions. Not shoddy, but clearly weathered a few storms. The lettering was faded on the big sign it proclaimed for all to see: Harvelle's Roadhouse.

“Harvelle’s,” Sam said to himself as he cut the engine. “You ever heard Dad mention them?”

 _:Nope,:_ Dean confirmed, his nose working. : _But, God, can we ditch the soccer mom van sometime?:_

“It’s all Bobby had,”

 _:It’s all Bobby had,:_ Dean mocked before turning a hot glare on Sam. _:You know how to_ **_hotwire_ ** _a car. Don’t tell me you’ve gone rusty, Stanford?:_

Sam just snorted but exited the car without another word. Dean followed, only without opening the door.

“So?” Sam asked him as he came around the van.

Dean sniffed.

The place was a bar, or a saloon, someplace absolutely _stacked_ with alcohol. He smelled enough human markers like piss, vomit, and the like to surmise that it was usually hopping at night. There was food too, all kinds of bar food. He smelled stale french fries, a few bones with scraps of meat still hanging, and even a cigarette bowl. And he heard three distinct heartbeats.

One was calm, even, as if asleep. The other two had spiked as soon as Sam had slammed his door shut.

 _:It’s a bar. Not empty. Three people,:_ Dean said as he went directly to the front door, Sam right on his heels. _:Knock would ya?:_

“So bossy,” Sam complained but took out his lockpick kit after knocking yielded no response.

 _:Wait, you want to break in after I_ **_just_ ** _told you there are three people inside?_ : Dean asked as Sam already had his lockpick kit outside. _:Are you suicidal?:_

“You can change whenever you want, Dean,” Sam reminded him as he jimmied the door open. Then he was entering with his gun at the ready, silent but deadly. As they’d been trained.

With a snort, Dean followed. He mulled over changing, but then thought better of it. The element was on their side.

Nobody ever expected a dog.

He found the sleeper easily enough. A guy absolutely passed out on a pool table. He was too high up for Dean to get a good look at, but he smelled like what he had dubbed the ‘red-neck’ flavor. One part cow manure, dirt, and all things nature. The other part alcohol. He wasn’t likely to cause them any problems.

_One down._

One heartbeat was in the kitchen, another somewhere in the other room, getting closer and closer every second. Trying to come up behind him. Which was silly. He was a dog.

The heartbeat was probably trying to get behind Sam.

Sam gestured to the kitchen after Dean told him what he heard and Dean looped through the bar stools, staying low.

The soft footsteps of someone young, light, and trained came towards him. He hid under a table. Watching. Waiting. Crouched. He timed it just right, as the sure, careful footsteps came around the corner of the bar.

Another step and the person was within range.

Dean wasn’t a heavy dog, he really wasn’t, maybe sixty pounds, max, but the right momentum, force, and he could take just about anything down. He had his ‘wolf’ blood to thank for that.

So when the girl, no older than Sam, came around the corner, he acted first and then thought about his actions later.

He pounced as soon as she was rounded the corner with that large gun of hers. Seeing as how Dean hadn’t practiced this particular move much, he was surprised he got her pinned down, snarling face in her face as easily as he did. The gun went flying, sure, and she hadn’t gotten off a shot - but it was too perfect. As if planned.

To make matters worse, the girl was easy to look at.

She was blond, dark eyes that were blown wide with fear. She weighed more than him, a lot more, yet she lay passively under him. Breath knocked out of her lungs. Didn’t even try and buck him off. It was then that Dean remembered he was a dog, it was only a second he forgot.

_Maybe she thought he was trained to do things like this? Or... she could be terrified of dogs._

That kind of made Dean want to comfort her, but he knew there were more important things to worry about.

“Shit!” She said as Dean growled low every time she so much as twitched. And she twitched a lot.

But he didn’t move at all. He stayed planted. For a few seconds, too, enough time that it was clear he wasn’t about to just snap at her face or hands.

“MOM!” She whispered, loudly, as if that was going to help. “MOM! MOM, THERE’S A DOG!”

Ahhh, mother-daughter duo. Those were always fun. Dean was about to call out for Sam. When someone else beat him to the punch.

_:Sammy-:_

“Don’t shoot!” Sam yelled behind him.

For a second, he was confused. _Don’t shoot? I don’t have hands._

But then he heard it, the cock of a gun. For a split second, Dean was torn. Stay and hold the girl down? Bounce off and hide under a table? The smart thing was to hide, but he couldn’t move fast enough.

“Tell your mutt to heel!” A woman’s voice very authoritatively said.

Dean’s jaws nearly _slammed_ shut, and he made to get off.

Sam’s voice came next, shakey.

“Dean, _down_.”

So he dropped the snarl and quickly snapped his head towards Sam.

Dean had been so preoccupied with the blonde he had underneath him that he’d momentarily forgotten to keep track of the **other** heartbeats. Snarling at himself in anger, he didn’t move quick enough as another voice said, “I said, call off your _damn_ dog.”

Sam winced but then issued a full-blown command. “Dean, _Heel_.”

It was the first time that Dean almost felt _physical_ hands on his body pulling him. Pushing him to obey. They took him completely by surprise and he obeyed without thought.

Dean physically flinched shook his head but, with teeth bared, responded before moving.

_:Damnit, sorry, Sammy.:_

He backed up off of the girl he had pinned, skittered a few feet away and seeking shelter a little under a table. The compulsion to go over to Sam’s side was too strong and he made his way over, under table-tops, to see Sam was being led from the kitchen with a rifle to his back. So that’s why he hadn’t been shot first, the woman hadn’t had a good line of sight.

“ _Sit_ . _Hold_ , Dean.” Sam commanded further for good measure.

When Dean followed the orders Sam gave a pained smile.

“See? He’s not going to do anything.”

The girl sat up slowly, watching him wearily.

“Some training...” The blond girl said as she got to her feet, cocked her gun and pointed it at Dean. Who was now sitting halfway between Sam and the girl. He was basically motionless, which was an odd sight, sure, but he wanted to make a point.

 _:Tell her to point that away from me or I’ll take her leg off.:_ Dean threatened.

“Sorry about Dean,” Sam apologized ignoring him. “He gets a little... _overzealous_. Uhm, please point that gun somewhere besides my dog?”

It was kind of a humorous picture, a large man such as Sam apologizing to a woman holding a gun to his head. Sam somehow managed to make himself look small, too, as he did it. How? Dean would never know.

“Why would I do that?” Blondie asked. “You’re mutt **attacked** me.”

 _:Hey, defend me Sam,:_ Dean glared.

“Well, I did tell him to,” Sam said, shrugging those big shoulders of his and sounded like a child while doing it. “He didn’t bite you, though, right?”

“Well... no?” Blondie said but just adjusted her hold on the rifle. “But he’s a stupid dog, he could have.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean’s specially trained. You weren’t in any danger. I promise.”

_:Oh don’t you go there,:_

The woman behind him dug the rifle forward. “ _Especially_ training... my ass. Go on, then. Give him a command.”

_Wait. What?_

“Like what?” Sam demanded, hands still high.

_:I’m going to kill you.:_

“I don’t know, make it special.” The blond girl said. “What’s the most interesting thing he knows?”

_:I swear to god, Sam, if you - :_

“ **Dean** ,” Sam looked skyward as if asking for strength. “Get me a beer.”

_:Thank god,:_

Both of the women looked absolutely confused as Dean bolted behind the counter. He had a strong nose, but this was a challenge. Because Sam asked for a beer but he didn’t have hands to operate a tap. So a bottle was the best he was going to get.

But bottles didn’t really have a smell, except for the case. And that took a moment to root around in. But he was successful at finding what he needed and grabbed one of the bottles. The _chinking_ made an odd noise and even the humans could hear it.

“Is he - “ A voice asked, the girl asked as Dean emerged from behind the counter with his prize in jaw. “Holy shit...”

 _:i’m soooo awesome.:_ He bragged, tail high as he came around the counter jaws full.

“Good boy, Dean,” Sam said as Dean hopped on his hind legs and placed the beer gently down on the table closest to Sam. He gave a bark for good measure, twirled to get his tail away, and sat.

“See? Trained.” Sam said, with a smile for good measure. “You were never in any danger. Dean doesn’t go for the kill unless I say so.”

The girl just stared at him.

“Obedient dog you got there,” The woman behind him said noncommittally, but Dean could tell she was impressed. “And as nice as that explanation was, how about you tell us what you want? Why you broke into my saloon?”

“It’s kind of a long story, and I’m sorry about that,” Sam winced. “My name is Sam Winchester and  - “

“Winchester?” She interrupted. Dean could see the moment she found him wanting as a threat, as her gun lowered slightly. “John’s boy?”

Sam winced and nodded. “That’s correct, ma’am.”

: _Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you Sam?_ :

“Wait, mom, you know him?” The girl asked, her gun lowering as well.

“Yeah, this is John Winchester’s youngest...” The woman behind Sam cocked her head. “Where’s your brother... Dean?”

“Uhm.” Sam said, eloquently.

Before Sam could speak her eyes met Dean's and there was a spark of recognition. Could see the click as the two ideas melded together into one. Dean Winchester. Dean the dog. Perhaps others wouldn’t have come to such a conclusion. Perhaps others would have leapt to Dean the human being dead and Sam taking in a dog and naming him after his dead brother, but it was clear that this woman had seen things. Had seen things like Dean and Sam had seen things. Even still, she seemed to know, but there was always the chance she didn’t and Dean was being paranoid.

He didn’t think so.

“ _Dean_.” She said, as if testing the word, never breaking eye contact.

 _:She knows, Sammy,:_ Dean said.

Sam looked at him in confusion, cocking his head. His eyes then went wide as **he** got it. He looked between her and Dean, and he tensed up. The woman hadn’t broken eye contact, yet.

“You wouldn’t happen to be him, would’ya?” The woman still asked, as if believing that maybe this once, just this once, she’d be the crazy one.

Dean very deliberately closed his mouth, sat up straighter.

Take that as you will.

The daughter missed the interaction, her mother did not.

“I mean, your party trick could use some work,” Ellen said, thoughtfully. “But no dog I know could enter into a bar and figure out the layout that fast. You didn’t even try to go to the fridge.”

_:Lookit that, I like her.:_

“Well,” She said, staring at him calculatingly for a long moment before dropping the gun. “I’m Ellen. This is my daughter, Jo. And I believe you’ve got a story for me, don’t you?”

 _:Boy don’t_ we ever _.:_ Dean thought to himself as Sam relaxed a bit, hands coming from behind his head.

“You can say that again.”

* * *

“First, explain your **dog**.” Ellen said as Sam collapsed against a bar stool. They were bolted to the floor so Dean felt no shame in hopping up onto the chair. It didn’t wobble as Ellen looked at him critically. Her daughter even more so. “I’ve never seen anything like it...”

“ **Hey** ,” Jo said, as if she were about to shoo him. Though she looked confused on how Dean was sitting. “No dogs on the chairs.”

Dean knew that wasn’t a rule, cause it was dumb, and Sam knew as well. Sam looked amused but also careful. As if he knew what he was about to ask crossed a line.

“Dean, if you would,” Sam gestured to him, which said a lot more than Dean thought he would ever get from Sam’s hand gestures. “Ellen already knows, I think we should let Jo in on the secret... don’t you?”

_Change. Please. Tired._

It was a huge risk. They didn’t know these people other than Ellen had left a voicemail on their Dad's phone. Knew that she could ‘help’. There was _something_ though. Dean felt it in his bones that these people could be trusted. If not because Dad had trusted them then because he could **feel** it.

It concerned him deeply that he was becoming a ‘ **something’** that thought so clearly with their _feelings_. Then again...

He better get used to it.

 _What the hell_ , he was pretty quick, he could probably take a bullet if he were wrong.

 _:She feels alright..._ : Dean sighed. _:I hate doing this though, seriously. It’s bad enough that you guys know..:_

Sam even softened up, his eyes doing that dewy thing, and his shoulders slumping. Dean followed orders, though, even the kind of unspoken kind. He even held his hands up once he was finished. In an ‘I mean you no harm’ gesture to Jo.

“Sorry for attacking you, if I had known who we’d be going against was two stunning women,” He chuckled humorlessly and shook his head slightly. “I’d have pulled my fangs.”

Jo had a gun out again, aiming it straight at Dean’s head judiciously. It was a small mercy she didn’t pull the trigger.

Dean felt a small twang of disappointment. So sudden, so abrupt; it made him pause and shake off the unwanted thought. He’d never been suicidal. Ever. Not even when he’d been ready to end his life because he thought he was a monster, not just cursed. That wasn’t suicidal. That was just acceptance of fate.

“Put the gun down, Jo.” Ellen said, staring at Dean.

“Mom?” Her voice cracked as Ellen carefully batted the gun away. “What the hell?”

Dean was honestly surprised that Ellen had done that. He could feel they were good people, but there was a difference between being good people and **acting** like ‘em. Ellen was doing both.

With a certain swagger, Ellen shook her head.

“It’s fine, honey, they won’t hurt us.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Mom?” Jo demanded. “You told me - “

Ellen’s eyes flashed as she whipped a hand through the air.

“I **know** what I told you, Jo, and in this case...” Ellen didn’t even seem like she knew what she was saying.  “This is different.”

Jo looked doubtful as she daren’t take her eyes off of Dean.

“How?”

“Dean’s not a monster, he’s... well.” Ellen ran a hand through her hair. “He’s cursed, honey.”

Dean felt his throat close up. It had been a long time since someone had defended him like that. Defended that he wasn’t a monster. And a stranger at that? He turned away as tears prickled the edge of his eyes. _Damnit. These ‘feelings’ needed to get the hell away from him._

Ellen looked over Dean carefully. Saw the collar around his throat, saw the way Sam watched her and then grimaced.

“Just cursed, honey.”

“You know what I am?” Dean said, keeping his posture as non-threatening as possible.

“I may not be a Hunter, but I was married to one,” Ellen said as if that answered all of Dean’s questions. “You’re a Familiar. Since you’re John’s kid, I know you weren’t born into it.” Jerking her head towards Sam, she added. “Logically that means Sam here is the one who collared you.”

“Impressive logic,” Sam said thanking Jo as she handed him a beer very slowly, eyes never leaving Dean. Dean waved away an offered bottle.

Ellen ignored that and had eyes only on Dean.

“How long has it been since you were bitten?”

“Going on five months now,” 

Ellen whistled. “Practically a baby.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“You know your stuff,” Sam said watching her just as carefully. “Stuff Dad didn’t even know.”

Ellen was careful as she put the beer away.

“I do.”

“How?”

“I hear things.”

Sam and Dean shared a look.

“Most Hunters we talked to know jack shit about Familiars. Especially Familiar-witch bonds,” Dean said, dropping his non-threatening posture for something a little more arrogant. “We’ve asked all around and the only answers we got even close to what you just said was from a pair of Witches up in Colorado.”

“As I said,” Ellen didn’t seem even a little concerned. “People talk.”

“Drop it, Dean,” Sam commanded him, cradling his head in his hand. “We’ve got more important things to talk about.”

Dean was forced to, but not before sneering at him. “Oh yeah, like what?”

“Like why Ellen here called dad and said she could help,” Ellen looked at them like they were idiots. “And help with what?”

“Well... The demon, of course.”

Sam sat back a little heavier in his seat as Dean stared at Ellen, all confusion on both sides.

“Did we miss something, Sam?” Dean demanded. “Some article in _Demon Hunter’s Quarterly_ , maybe? How do you know all this?”

His brother just shook his head.

Ellen looked once again curious and conflicted. “I just run a saloon, boys. People come through and sometimes they talk. Hunters don’t talk nearly as much, but I’ve got a reputation for listening if one needs it.”

“And that’s how you know our dad?” Sam asked.

“... Yes. John passed through a long time ago. Once upon a time, even, he was like family.”

 _Family_? Dean felt a little pit rise up in his chest. Family? These stranger wanted to claim Dad as family? Hell. Dean and Sam barely could claim their father like that.  Dean felt the need to just turn dog, turn tail, and run. He was stronger than that though, and he persevered as Sammy perked up.

“How come he’s never mentioned you before?”

Ellen was blank-faced but she pursed her lips ever so slightly.

“You’d have to ask him that.”

And there the elephant of the room was addressed, which was impressive. Dean was a familiar and still, their dad's death was more incredible, more fantastical, than a real live mythical beat in their midst. Even Jo looked away from him.

“John... is alright, isn’t he?” Ellen asked.

Dean couldn’t bring himself to look away from the table. Their father's name, whenever spoken, still punched a hole in his chest. Left him wanting to shake. Sometimes it took away the numbness, made him feel things he didn’t

“Uh,” Sam didn’t meet her eyes. “No. He’s not.”

* * *

Ellen took the news like it actually hurt. Jo, Dean could tell, was indifferent. Her heartbeat didn’t go one way or another. A curious kind of incident, but Dean didn’t say anything. It was obvious that Jo didn’t care. Though, she kind of did, too. Which was baffling.

_What was John to these people?_

Then... Ash.

“Uh-whua?” The man scrabbled to get into a sitting position when Ellen called for him. Woke him from his stupor. “Is-isit closin’ time?”

Dean caught a whiff of him as he rolled off the pool table and ran his hands through his hair. It was bright and tangy, there was an overwhelming amount of alcohol. Yet it was the smell of electricity that intrigued Dean the most. It seemed like something he should mention to Sam... but it was also something that Dean had told no one but Tanner.

Sam didn’t sense Dean was hiding anything, even glared at him slightly, before leaning forward towards Ellen.

“ **He’s** going to help us?”

Jo looked smug, without a smile but a certain kind of humor in her expression. “Mhmm. He’s a genius.”

Dean took another look at the man and thought that Jo must have been smoking something, but he also shrugged, because, well. What did he know about ‘genius’s’? Sam couldn’t stop staring, his expression changing only briefly to complete bewilderment as he looked to Dean.

* * *

After introductions, Dean prodding Ash with a few choice words and Sam scoffing but dutifully bringing their father’s files to the man, both the brothers were surprised to find that, yes, Ash really was the real deal. He spat knowledge that sounded like something their father would have known, but he said it in a way that screamed ‘college educated’. Dean knew it from listening to Sam. Sam knew it from actually **being** in college.

Which, you know, brought back memories that Sam couldn’t afford to mull over right now.

“Give me...” The man did a few quick calculations in his head, he must have because then he said. “51 hours.”

 _Specific_. Dean thought to himself, as he sat and picked through a few pieces of paper. He knew how to read the info since John had taught him before he’d disappeared, only to reappear to be killed. That sent a pang through his chest and he dropped what was in his hands.

He needed something to take his mind away from that. Looking around quickly he saw Ash leaving with the files.

“Hey!” He called out, and he wasn’t even sure why. “I dig the haircut.”

It stopped Ash short, but the man turned with a flourish like he meant to. “Business in the front,” He declared as he flipped his hair. “Party in the back.”

Then he was gone.

Dean’s thoughts of his father were also gone as he smiled.

* * *

Sam wasn’t thinking of his father, even with all of the papers and the memories of that file-folder, no, he’d been in mourning after all for long enough. Long enough. No. Sam was thinking about school. He was thinking of everything he had left behind. He was thinking of his peers.

And then he thought of Jessica.

He thought of the Sunday mornings they spent in bed. He thought of his late nights writing and research papers for his classes and Jessica coming up behind him and hugging him, or bringing him dinner. He remembered Christmas at her parents. He remembered how she never asked over his family, the spot too tender.

And he remembered her on his ceiling, reaching one hand out, and **burning**.

Swallowing hard he shook the image from his mind and tried to focus on the drink in front of him. When he realized it was just water, he cleared his throat and asked for something stronger. Ellen gave him a look, he’d apparently already had a beer, but nodded as she pulled a bottle over. He didn’t even look at what she poured. Just drank.

Dean didn’t even blink. Maybe he was too lost in his own mind, just like Sam.

“51 hours to kill, Sammy.” Dean sighed.

Sam grunted into his drink, all tense and wounded like.

“Alright, good talk.” Dean said as he pushed away from the bar to go to the couch in the corner. He knew his family. When they got into the drink, when there was little else to do but talk, they closed up. It was just how their family worked.

Being a dog didn’t change that. It just made him realize that he couldn’t **_not_ ** feel everything.

He couldn’t drown his sorrows in alcohol. He couldn’t ignore anything.

Everything that he _could_ ignore before was now too loud to just pass by. It was like being able to see for the first time. Be able to hear. Heartbeats he could _hear_ now. He could smell fear and trepidation. There was a tingle, that electricity, around certain people. It was all laid out in front of him. If he ever wanted to go back to the way he was before, short of un-cursing himself, he had to learn a whole new way of ignoring things. Which, considering everything, wasn’t easy.

Nor did he necessarily **want** to ignore things.

As a human, when you didn’t know something, you weren’t ignoring it. You were innocent. You honestly, truly didn’t know.

With Dean’s nose, he couldn’t escape knowing.

With his ears, he heard everything.

He knew _everything_ . He knew **too fucking much.**

And Dean was pretty decent at ignoring things, but the magnitude of it all was too much.

Leaning on the couch, Dean relaxed. He was far enough away that the heartbeats were just background noise, the smell was directly mostly to the couch (beer, dirt, ass, the usual), and he felt almost closed off from the world. Almost normal. He closed his eyes and he tried to dream.

The smell reached him before Jo’s voice did.

Just like when he had bowled into her and held her down, she smelled like some fruity shampoo, a sharp-stinging flowery smell that could have been deodorant or perfume or who knew what women wore?

“You need anything?” She asked. It was in that waitress-tone-of-voice. That ‘I am here because I have to be’, which wasn’t true. At all. Then again, maybe it was. Hell, Dean had never had to waiter in his life. Lie, cheat, steal, sure, but hold down a job like this?

John wouldn’t have liked it...

“You know, yeah I have a question. What’s the least beer like beer around?” Dean asked, and immediately hated himself.

Jo’s heartbeat stalled for half a second and then there was the tiniest echo in her voice. Like she was trying to stifle her laughter. “What do you mean? I am pretty sure the farthest thing away from beer would be water, but if you want beer but just not - then Miller Lite.”

Ugh. He hadn’t even drank that when he was _twelve_.

“Fucking great. Yeah. Alright,” Dean went on the defensive, opening his eyes and allowed his head to fall back with a _thunk_. “It’s the familiar thing. Regular beer with anything higher than a one percent alcohol content tastes like absolute garbage.”

She looked baffled.

“What about something stronger? Does that taste like crap?”

“No,” Dean shook his head but smirked as he remembered. “Tastes like fire, but it's more of a monthly kind of thing. My hangovers are _legendary_.”

He’d drank four shots when John had died and was _still_ recovering.

Jo was interested now, and she slid into the chair at the table in front of Dean. “What? Like your metabolism is different?”

“Probably,” Dean admitted, though he didn’t know much about that. He could still eat a mountain of food, but was it... more than usual? Could that be why beer tasted like dirt? “I don’t know, it’s all still so new.”

There was a flash of sympathy on her face before she got up. “I’ll get you that Miller you asked for.”

That suddenly sounded like the worst thing ever.

“Ugh, can I change that to just a water?”

Jo didn’t give him any indication that she pitied him for that move, but she did hope to.

“Sure.”

When she left, she didn’t seem like such a hard ass. Still chilly, absolutely, he had jumped her as a dog, but she wasn’t nearly as ice-cold.

They waited around an hour, switching places. Sometimes Sam on the couch, sometimes Dean. Rarely both.

“I should probably call Bobby and let him know what we found,” Sam finally said, speaking to Dean for the first time.

“You do that, Sammy, I’m just gonna - “ Dean made a little movement with his fingers but when Sam didn’t get it, he rolled his eyes and changed. : _I’m getting tired of being a person._ :

Sam rolled his eyes but left for a few minutes. Dean could hear the entire conversation on Sam’s end, but Bobby was fuzzy.

* * *

Sam came back and leaned against the couch. Dean decided he wanted to be there, too.

“You’ve been doing that a lot more often than usual, you okay?” Sam asked, but moved over enough that Dean could jump up next to him. Dean took the opportunity for what it was and curled up with him, head in his lap. His brother’s fingers in his fur. Worries melted from his body like having a good hour-long massage.

_:I’m feeling okay, just... doggie.:_

Dean didn’t know how to put these feelings into words nor did he ever think he’d be able to.

“So what's the deal with that, anyway?” Jo asked, leaning against the table. “He doesn’t **have** to do that, does he?”

 _:Ugghh, can I just have some quiet time? Some me time?_ : Dean groaned to nobody in particular, pawing his head and ears, since Sam was the only one who could hear him, Sam snorted.

“He can stay human for however long he want’s, now, anyway,” Sam explained to her, putting down the phone. “The first few months were hell. He couldn’t keep himself human for more than half an hour. First month, he couldn’t change at all.”

_:It could have been a mental block, you don’t know.:_

“Now... well, he has his moods.” His big hand came down on Dean’s head. “One mood is what I like to call pouty-puppy.”

Dean snarled viciously at him but Sam only shoved his face away playfully.

“Who’s a _pouty puppy_?” Sam sing-songed ruffling Dean. “You are, you are!”

 _:I’m going to rip your throat out,:_ Dean promised, ears back severely and teeth out in a snarl. _:And dance on your grave.:_

Jo stared at the both as if she couldn’t understand.

“Are you going to cure him?”

Both brothers stiffened.

“Uh,” Sam scoffed, kind of in disbelief. “I don’t think there is a cure for **this**. Familiar-ism is just one of those things you live with...”

This conversation was banned for a reason.

“Then doesn’t he need a witch or something?” She asked. “I don’t know a lot of lore on familiars, but what I do know is that they are witches _pets_.”

 _:I can hear you, you know.:_ Dean said, lifting his head to stare at her. : _Tell her I can hear and understand you, would you?:_

Sam scoffed slightly but dutifully relayed the message. “Dean wants you to know he can hear you,”

A glass fell from her fingers which made Dean’s ears perk up. The sound of shattered glass was an interesting sound. Pretty and disgusting all in one. Sharp and loud. Like a shriek. Dean’s ears flickered to get rid of the echo of shattering glass.

“You can talk to him?” She demanded as she came around the table. There was a light in her eyes now. This was _interesting_. “How does that even work? Is it like a mental connection? I thought that only happened with Witches and their familiars - ”

“Hey, whoa, whoa, slow down,” Sam said as she sat right in front of them. “Uhm, yes. We talk. It happened after we did the Collaring spell. Just one touch and suddenly I could hear - “

“Collaring spell?” She demanded, pulling back as if she’d smelled something awful.

“Uhm, yeah, it’s what keeps his clothes on.” Sam explained eloquently jingling Dean’s collar.

 _:Oh, come on_ ,: Dean shook himself.

“Oh.”

 _:_ **_Oh_ ** _is right, geesh, let a guy have some privacy._ :

“I didn’t think about that.” Jo said, and there was the faintest hint of a blush. Dean could hear the blood in her veins. Could hear how her heart beat and beat faster. Watched how her skin darkened into a blush. It was... hard to ignore and Dean couldn’t help but stare.

“Believe me, it was a godsend when we worked it out.” Sam said, a hint of a laugh.

Dean glared balefully. : _Laugh it up._ :

“Hey you can change and defend yourself at any time,” Sam pet him on his head.

 _:Fine, whatever,:_ Dean changed and Sam’s hand ended up on his shoulder. “Honestly, I’m sitting right here.”

Jo stared. “I’m never going to get used to that.”

But the blush stayed and Dean realized Jo was still thinking of the whole collaring thing.

The Dean, naked thing.

Dean flashed her a wolfish smile and she scowled, turned back around and got back to cleaning of the bar. Her heartbeat told him the story she wouldn’t. Attraction she might feel, but there was also a hint of disgust. And that hint of anything other than attraction was what made him pause, hunch over, and turn back.

It was easier. It was a lot easier than facing that. Facing rejection of any kind.

Before when girls had dismissed his advances and thought he was disgusting - he had laughed and just pushed harder until they either slapped him or kissed him. It was the way he was. A man with needs and a man who wanted what he wanted. If the woman wanted too, then that worked out just fine for him.

Now... Now it was different. He was strange and weird and a **dog**.

_Had Dad’s death really done that? Made him this... fragile?_

Because he didn’t remember ever being this weak when his father was alive. He didn’t remember this kind of fragile existence where a look, where a moment, where a smell, where a heartbeat beating wrong took him so off guard. He didn’t remember any of this when Dad was alive.

Being a dog was much easier than bawling like a child. Not that he’d ever allow himself to do that.

No chick-flick moments, after all.

No. No sir-e.

Sam didn’t even question when he practically molded himself to his leg back to being a dog.

* * *

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t have a sex drive, cause, well, he **did.** Before he’d been changed and after. That was one thing that hadn’t changed.

It was a comfort, most of the time.

Except for those first few months when he’d been more _dog_ than human and the urge to have sex with just about **anything** he came in contact with had set him on edge and made him squirm just to think about it and - well, it went without saying that animal sex was not something he wanted to experience. Ever. It had been awkward, weird to think about, and he’d not been able to face his own reality as he suppressed it all.

So Jo was the first woman in a long long while that he’d actually had the opportunity or the desire to flirt with. Only setback was that she knew he was a dog. Literally.

On the other hand... was that really a setback?

The only woman he’d met in a while and it just so happened to be the only one that knew about his ‘curse’.

“What is it like?” Jo asked as she brought him a large glass of water. His second of the day. Man did his liver love him.

“Well, my drink options are severely limited. As you know,” Dean said, saluting her with his water. “Which, let me just tell you, made me damn near cry after I realize the only beer I could drink was _Miler light_. You confirming it just... did it in.”

She winced in sympathy. “How does that work? Like specifically”

Gesturing towards his face, Dean shook his head. “Hell if I know. Beer has a certain taste, as far as I can tell, it’s the fermentation. It - “ He shivered as he remembered it. “Ugh. It tastes like _literal_ crap. Hard liquor is different, but that’s just cause the closest taste I can come up with would be fire. It also gets me drunker quicker. A shot goes a **long** way.”

“Yikes. I’d stick with water, too,” Jo said chuckling. “Since your sense of taste is so off, does that mean your other senses are too?”

Dean almost thought she was flirting. Then her heartbeat spiked, there was a sharp smell that even as a human he could pick up and - then he _knew_ she was.

“All of them.” He told her conspiratorial.

“All of them?”

Dean nodded. She looked at him like she didn’t quite believe him.

“What do you smell here?”

“Really?” Dean said, wrinkling his nose as he gestured to the pool table. “You ask what a **bar** smells like?”

Jo’s nose wrinkled back, cutely. “Yeah, I guess that’s pretty dumb. Fine. What’s the weirdest smells?”

Dean scoffed and gestured around. “What _isn’t_? I mean, it’s all underlying things. Dirt, sex, blood. Ghosts have a certain smell. Children have a certain smell depending on their age. Everything has a smell I never smelled before. Bars, though, are a lot of alcohol, human, clothes, and dirt.”

“Impressive.” She frowned in amusement. “And sounds?”

“I can hear a whole hell of a lot. All that way out to the highway.”

Dean gestured to the right, where the faint sounds of cars driving by could be heard. By him, no one else. Jo looked at him oddly.

“So wait,” She said, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. “You can hear heartbeats, can’t you?”

“That I can,”

“... You knew we were in here when you guys broke in.”

“Break in sounds so awful, we just picked the lock,” Dean defended Sam before throwing him under the bus. ”But I told Sam not to, but kind of hard to stop him when he gets an idea in his head,”

“That's really stupid. You know that, right?”

“...Yeah, I know.”

* * *

Jo was talking to Sam about something when Ellen cornered Dean on the sofa.

“... How are you?”

Dean blinked at her. Reading the way she smelled, the way she moved, how her brow was furrowed. Worried. Kindness, worried, not really pity - it could be though. It was borderline pity.

“I’m doing alright. I guess. As well as I can be,” Dean said, feeling nervous suddenly, the energy Ellen was putting off made him nervous.

“I just meant, how close you and your father were - “

Ah. It _was_ pity. Dean felt that kind of boiling feeling in his gut that he imagined was somewhat rage, somewhat anger, somewhat distress. Then he forced it down. Stomped on it like a beetle. Like it was something worthless.

“I’m fine,” He said, forcefully through his teeth. “ _We’re_ fine.”

Ellen leaned back, raising her hands in surrender. “I was just checking. No need to get testy.”

Dean looked at her impassively, not allowing his emotions to show.

“It’s just what I do.” She defended further, when she realized she’d touched a raw, raw nerve, as she’d been expecting too.

“Yeah. Got it.” Dean said. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

Then before she could backpedal further he got up to sit next to his brother. Even just walking towards Sam calmed him. It was like a wave of peace, that electricity as he bumped shoulders with Sam and sat, it meant the world to him. It was the world, for a few seconds as he breathed in deeply and slowed down.

Sam didn’t notice anything, but did bump him back.

It was times like this that Dean was a little guilty he didn’t tell Sam everything.

But. It was better this way. Less complicated. More secrets that Dean didn’t have to share with anyone, and he was fine with that. And he was still a little angry at Ellen for daring to think he wasn’t doing fine, that he wasn’t coping, that she could think she could read him...

Dean took a breath and pulled the newspaper towards him.

 

* * *

“This?” Ellen asked after Sam pointed out the folder by the police-scanner. “It’s uh, it’s a case.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose as she handed the folder to him. “A case?”

“Yeah I was going to hand it off to a guy I know...” They both saw the instant a thought clicked in her head. “But hey, you’ve got time, don’t you?”

Dean snorted into his water. “All we’ve _got_ is time.” Then he was reaching out.

“Gimme that, Sammy.”

He gave the folder up without too much fuss.  “Fine,”

Dean read over a few paragraphs, got the slightest idea of what was happening before Sam demanded, “So?”

“Let a guy read, wouldya?” Dean mumbled as he read, flipped a few pages to look at a picture or two. Back to the middle. To the end. And - was that a _Circus_ in town? - got it.

“Oh Sammy, you are going to love this,” Dean smiled with the most shit-eating grin.

Sam’s heart physically fell. Dean swore he could hear it.

“Clowns, Sammy.”

And Sam flattened in his seat. A groan starting in the base of his throat.

“ _Clowns_.” Dean crowed.

The revenge was so sweet, Dean could taste it. And he’d made fun of him on the airplane. Payback was going to be a bitch. Getting up, he pushed away from the table and absolutely sang.

“Clowns!”

Ellen and Jo shared an amused look as Sam melted into the bar table top with a groan. 


	2. The Clowns you Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are sent on the trail of a killer Clown.  
> As they hunt, a few things that perhaps would have stayed hidden if Dean didn't have a nose, or ear, or eye on - come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehh, why not? Here's the whole of episode one. I still have a lot more to write, but I have up to like... chapter 6 written. Soooo, yeah, I'll get there when I get there. Maybe I'll upload in episode segments? Eh. Who knows? Not me, that's for sure!

“This is the best thing that could possibly happen!” Dean said on their way to their destination.

Sam scoffed, folder open on his lap, and gave Dean an impressive side-eye, that his brother ignored.

“Dean, two people are dead,”

Okay, fine,  _ buzzkill _ .

“Well,” Dean said. “When you put it like that... It’s still funny.”

“It’s not funny, Dean.” Sam was doing his frownie I-am-not-amused face. “Fear of clowns is a re **al thin** g, and if I remember well - you’re terrified of flying.”

“Hey, planes can crash - “

“ - And clowns  **murder** .”

Dean had to admit he was right, but still. Planes crashed much more than clowns murdered. He was right and Sam was wrong. Breathing in, Dean felt himself get comfortable for the first time in months. This was normal. Way normal. He was driving, the wind in his hair, laughing at his little brother like he used to, needling and pushing Sam to the max. Sure, he felt confined in the car, but the window rolled down helped. And maybe he still laughed a little too loud, but this was an improvement, wasn’t it? 

Sam still was too harsh and serious next to him, but as Dean laughed at him - he softened just a touch around the edges.

“Totally normal to be scared of clowns,” Sam said under his breath, still defending himself.

Dean reached over, and for what felt like the first time in a month, jacked up one of his songs. Even though he was in a huge van, nothing like his Baby, the sound wasn’t... awful. Sam might not have started singing but Dean did. He sang for all he was worth. And this time, he didn’t feel like he was singing to cover something. 

Which, maybe, in hindsight, was exactly what he was doing...

* * *

The smell of the entire circus was  _ off _ .

Dean’s had his nose for close to five months now, and yet he’d never smelled this kind of stink. Like mothballs, makeup, and rotten wood. It would be one thing if he could track it, but it was  _ everywhere _ . It permeated everything. And it wasn’t in trails, so Dean couldn’t follow it; everything smelled the same. Like a coat of paint.

“Anything?” Sam asked, holding his leash as loose as he could. Barely really holding it.

They’d decided to skip the homemade EMF in favor of Dean’s nose, and it seemed that that, for once,  _ wasn’t  _ paying off. After all the readings they’d done last night, they were guessing either a possession of an object or some kind of monster they’d never encountered before. They were hoping for a ghost or a possession, but it wasn’t looking likely.

Based on his nose, Dean was leaning towards a monster nobody had seen in a while. _ Based on the 1987 _ mysterious three deaths, all leaving the children alive and petrified of clowns for the rest of their lives; it wasn’t looking like something spiritual or evil, neither. At least enough so that the Hunter community were mostly clueless about them.

_ :It’s like it’s everywhere but nowhere, _ : Dean said, sniffing near a trash can.  _ :Ugh. And it’s awful, too. _ :

“Yeah?” Sam said into his shoulder. “What’s it smell like?”

Dean stopped acting like a dog for a second to glare at him. : _ Rainbows and popcorn,:  _ He said sarcastically.  _ :I don’t know - What do you think it smells like? You really want me to tell you? _ ”

“No need to be so snippy. We don’t all have some magical nose,” Sam whispered under his breath, twisting around to get the whole circus experience and... also watch out for clowns. “Do you have any leads?”

_ :No, _ : Dean said. : _ But I think - : _

“Mommy, look at the puppy!” A little girl's shrill voice screamed next to Dean, making him cringe, but then immediately twist and wag his tail. Like a switch was flipped. It was sudden, dizzying, and Dean didn’t really come back to himself until after the fact. It was like dog Dean took over completely. Pulling against the leash that Sam was barely holding, he escaped. 

For some reason, Dean didn’t even think of  _ why _ this was a bad idea, or not to do it, or anything else - he felt and he reacted. 

“Hey!” Sam shouted, in alarm. In confusion.

_ :Relax, there’s a child! _ : Dean said as he pulled up next to the six-year-old. 

Plopping down into a sitting position he watched as the little girl giggled and threw her arms around his neck, not the least bit fearful of the dog that was as tall as her. Dean didn’t even think it was weird. Didn’t really stop to think why he was doing this. Didn’t question it. 

The child was a spot of light in a dark world and Dean wanted to be as close as he could.

It was instinct.

It was easy.

Mindlessly, even. Dean didn’t really come back to human-thought until the child had hugged him. Hard. The tiniest, tiniest bit of electricity passed from his nose to tail, and he didn’t stop to think about that, couldn’t really. Because then he had to really start questioning why the hell it happened at all, this feeling.

And he couldn’t. So he sat and he basked in the childish giggles.

Sam immediately skidding to a stop next to him.

“Dean!” 

Dean barely acknowledged him inside his head. 

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” Sam apologized to the parents as Dean panted happily with the child hugging him.

_ :Child!: _ Dean barked.

“It’s fine,” The mother said, with a smile. “He’s a loving puppy. Jessica can’t stay away from dogs, either. She’s just got that...” With an exasperated sigh born of many years experience, she added. “Gift.”

“What kind of dog is he?” The father asked, crouching to pet Dean’s fur behind his ears. Sam knew he was out of it when Dean barely responded to the adult.

“Uhm, no clue. Mutt? Found him on the side of the road.” Sam said, cocking his head in confusion as Dean panted happily. “Uh, come’er boy...?”

Sam asked it like he wasn’t sure Dean would actually obey, but Dean did. There was child, after all, but Sam was Person. He pulled away from the child and with each step his head became clearer.

: _ Whoa _ .: He said as he rounded Sam to stood just behind him and to the right. : _ What was that?: _

Sam felt relief flood him as he grabbed the lead and backed up.

“Ugh, well, it was lovely to meet you, sorry about that, uh, bye.”

Sam took long strides to get as far away as possible, dragging Dean slightly. 

“What the hell was that?” Sam hissed, as he started towards the edge of the ground.

_ :Uhm. I plead the fifth?: _

“What?” Sam hissed, as someone looked at him with a frown. Sam lowered his voice even more. “You can’t plead the fifth on this, Dean, what on earth was that?”

_ :I don’t know. The kid said  _ **_doggy_ ** _ and I couldn’t stop myself. It was like... It was like I could  _ feel _ her happiness? I was pulled over! _ : It didn’t make sense to Dean either, but he said it. And it felt right.

“Feel her happiness?” Sam demanded.

_ :Hey, I don’t make the rules.: _ Dean said, feeling a little shaken. _ :I mean, I know I can tell if a person is good or bad or whatever that stupid mojo is... but this was different.: _

Sam listened.

_ :I could feel that she was just... there wasn’t  _ **_bad_ ** _ inside her. And when I got close, it felt like there wasn’t any  _ **_bad_ ** _ inside  _ me _ either.: _

“You could feel all that?” Sam asked as they reached the edge of the camp-grounds.

_ :And more... but the more is hard to describe,: _

Sam leaned against the van. 

“Man, we came for a killer clown,” Looking at the circus in front of them, he breathed. “And we ended up learning you’ve got a thing for kids.”

_ :Hey you make it sound gross, dude,: _

“Dude. You  _ licked _ her.”

_ :...Shut up.: _

* * *

The carnival was a place of supernatural that was normal. Knife-throwers with crazy skill. Psychic that probably could do exactly what they said they could. Sleight-of-hand. Pickpockets. People who could talk to animals. The list was endless. And there  _ was _ a list.

Surrounded by crazy and Sam ends up talking to the owner.  **The** Mr. Cooper. 

Well, Dean  _ ordered _ Sam to go and talk to the man. But, Sam was on his way either way. All the carnies kept the owner out of the corner of their eye as Sam complied. Schmoozing like he had learned dealing with Lawyers and their ilk. 

“Wait. Cooper... like, the Carnival Cooper?” Dean heard his brother say.

The man didn’t looked surprised or really anything.

“That’s me. I own and run this place, yes sir, took it over from my father.”

“Then it’s certainly nice to meet you,” A handshake here. “Hear you’ve had a bit of local trouble the last town you were in.”

 

“Couple folks get themselves murdered,” Cooper said, disinterested to the naked eye. “Cops always start here. You know much about the circuit?”

“I have a cousin,” Sam lied, “Told us a few stories about the life, only the glamorously ones, though. Think I’d make it in the business?”

The man hummed, before pulling out his wallet. He shuffled through it for a moment, searching. He found what he was looking for and handed it over to Sam. 

“That’s my daddy.” 

_ :What is even happening right now?:  _ Dean asked, but was very aware that he wasn’t going to see the photo anytime soon. He could only hear what was being said. Smelled. And that was a whole lot of nothing. But Sam and he had agreed, he’d be more useful as a dog.

“You look just like him.” 

_ :Wait, what?: _

Sam clearly couldn’t respond, so he just gave the photo back. 

“He was in the business. Ran a freakshow.” Cooper told them, as he put the picture back. “Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress. I guess. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else.” 

Sam was into it, listening, nodding along and had his ‘serious’ face on.

“But you?” Cooper said with a smile. “You should go to school. Find a girl. Have two point five kids. Live regular.” 

“Sir,” Sam said, just as seriously as his serious face will allow. “I don’t want to go to school. I don’t want to be regular. To be honest, that's one of the things I do know,”

Dean was immediately slapped with the truth of Sam’s words. It reached deep in his heart, past his rib-cage into his  _ ‘feelings’ _ . And Dean realized, as he usually did, that Sam had changed. It wasn’t the kind of change Dean had been expecting, either. For so long he’d wished, hoped, and dreamed for Sam to come back to the hunting life to stay. Not for the Hunt, he knew Sam didn’t care for it, but just to be close, to be family again. Not for anyone else but himself. It was selfish of him, but that was how Dean was. 

Now... now that he had it, he wasn’t sure he wanted it this way.

Not if Sam had to lose a woman he loved. Not if Sam had to lose his will for knowledge, and for college, and for... Not if Sam had to lose what made Sam  **_Sam_ ** . 

But Dean kept that to himself. It was out of his hands. 

Sam would make his choices all on his own.

“Good for you.” Cooper said, before excusing himself to go into a tent, wishing them a good day.

It was clear, in his body language and how he stated it, that he thought Sam was full of shit.

* * *

They take a few hours. Walking the circus, meeting people, asking questions. Questions that made a few of the carnies nervous or just plain rude. And others just plain nervous. Not surprising, the circus had a lot of felons and criminals within its hallowed tents. That was of course when they met Cooper, the man who ran the carnival. Then, even more so, is the blind man who still seemed to see just fine.

“What kind of dog, ya got there?” The man asked Sam, startling the large-man-child in ways that surprised Dean.

Sam gave the same old response of ‘Mutt’, that he ‘didn’t know’, but that Dean was ‘a good dog’.

“I could hear that,” The man said, seeing nothing as he still seemed to make Sam feel young. “You barely give him directions, don’t have to tug on the leash, or anything. It’s impressive. How’d you train him?”

“Wait, you could hear all that?”

The man smiled, making Dean shuffle and sit at Sam’s feet. It was clear this might be an important conversation and it might take a while. Ears perked, he sniffed, but found nothing... off. Not really. He didn’t smell anything.

“Son, when one sense goes, the others,” He smiled and made a gesture by his head. “Get stronger.”

_ :You can say that again. _ : Dean thought, because he knew intimately about senses being enhanced. He never noticed until he really focused, because everything had just been too much, but dog eyesight was not all it was cracked up to be. Maybe that meant his human eyesight wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, but Dean didn’t really care.

Sam heard him, but gave no indication of it, as he continued talking to the man. “Smell, too?” 

The blind man gave a nod.

“That can’t be nice. Especially...” Sam trailed off, realizing what he was about to say.

“Especially with the shit around here, is what you meant to say, wasn’t it?”

Sheepishly Sam chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it,” Then realizing he’d had an entire conversation with the man with any introductions, he went, “Oh!” Switched Deans leash to the other hand and held out his hand. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Not important.” The blind man said, without taking Sam’s hand.

Obviously. 

Dean chuckled to himself, which came out in a wheezing sneeze.

Embarrassed, Sam retracted his hand, the blind man none the wiser. Probably... Probably not.

That’s when Dean smelled it. Or. Rather. Didn’t smell it.

Dean has sniffed so many pant legs, sticky hands, and buildings it’s almost impossible that he didn’t immediately catch it. In fact, that was the thing. He knew all the smells of the campground. So if he knew all the smells, what was there left? What could be left to sniff or find?

_ Nothing _ . And that’s what it was.

The entire place stunk, except for the one man. A  _ blind _ man. 

Dean sniffed. Again and again for good measure. The hair on the back of his neck and back rose all on its own. The first few times, he hadn’t thought anything of it. With the stink of the place, it was hard to pick when his nose was right and when it was wrong if everything stunk the same. He had to get really close. He had to get  _ uncomfortably _ close.

_ :Sam, distract him. _ : Dean said as he tried to smell better and snuffled closer.

The man tensed up, but not enough for Sam to perceive. To Dean it was like a beacon. It shouted at him. Stress. Anxiety. What should have followed was a burst of sense, of smell, to tell Dean that the man was feeling it, too. Yet, nothing came. And that was the only way he knew for certain that the blind man had no smell. 

Dean realized then that this guy must be it.

The monster.

But... How?

A perk of being a dog? People don’t know you’re not. Dean could tell a lot about a person on how they treated him. Some threw bottles at him, some got down low and crooned to him, and others kept their distance. And seeing as Cooper was treating him like he was little more than filth, yet not really animal filth. More like... he didn’t want to be near him nor really cared about him - it was a nice reprieve. As nice as being away from a monster was.

Dean kept it quiet. It wouldn’t help Sam if he dropped that bomb on him. He might try and kill the guy right here, right now.

Sam distracted the blindman sufficiently for a few more seconds before the man excused himself and trotted off.

_ :It’s him.: _ Dean told Sam as soon as the man was far enough away that Sam’s reaction wouldn’t give anything away.

By the way Sam tensed, those giant shoulders crunching up as he stalled, he got the gist of it.

“You’re sure?” Sam asked again as they sat in the van. He’d kept quiet almost the entire time they’d walked back. No use pretending to talk to his dog about monsters not as Dean breathlessly explained what he had smelled. 

Dean dug at his collar. “Yeah, I’m sure. And why didn’t we try a bracelet?”

Sam turned to him, completely thrown off. He’d just had a conversation with a potential killer. “A bracelet? For what?”

“For the collar. It should just have to go over a body part, right?”

Sam got defensive. 

“Well, I, I guess we never - Okay, wait, Dean, one thing at a time.” Sam demanded, flustered, cutting through the air with his palm. “Lets focus on the blind dude. Alright? You’re saying he smells like nothing? How is that possible?”

“He’s our guy, that’s how,” Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what the son of a bitch is, but I know my nose. It doesn’t lie.” 

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Well, we need to figure out what he is to kill him,” 

“No shit sherlock.” Dean huffed as he turned the keys, the roar of the engine tearing through the air. It was only a few minute drive to their motel room, but he was already feeling enclosed and trapped. Yet they’d just sat down. 

It was then that Dean realize what was bothering him.

“Hey, you alright, man?” Sam asked as they pulled up to a stoplight, it seemed he knew his brother too well.

“You mean that?” Dean asked. “Back there, with the... you not wanting to go back to school... were you just saying it?”

Sam knew exactly what he was talking about. He turned his face away to the passenger window. Dean wondered, for a moment, if Sam could so selectively remember that Dean knew when someone was lying. This was Dean being polite. 

“I don’t know.”

Dean was stunned. That was so... un-Sam like. 

“You don’t know?” Dean asked, incredulously.

The stoplight turned green and he moved forward, just as Sam seemed to melt back into his seat with a sigh. Even with his nose being a lot less powerful in human-form, Dean knew exactly what the smell of being tired was. And Sam was practically  _ breathing _ it on him.

“Sam. I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings... you were gonna take off, go back to college. Leave it all behind.”

_ Leave me behind _ , Dean left unsaid.

Sam’s mouth formed a firm frown as he shifted in his seat. He was absolutely resolute as he didn’t look to Dean.

“I’m having second thoughts.”

There it was. The biggest difference between Dean and Sam. Second thoughts. Dean didn’t have those. He couldn’t. As a soldier, as a Hunter, second thoughts got you killed or worse - distracted. But Sam... Sam had had second thoughts about everything since before Dean knew there was a  **way** to have thoughts of his own. Sam had second thoughts about college. Second thoughts about killing werewolves. Had second and third and fourth thoughts about killing humans that were killing others. 

Dean... didn’t.

Dean couldn’t stop himself from hoping Sam would stay with him. If not for the Familiar thing, than because they were family.

“Really...?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, eyes twitching between his hands and the outside world quickly. “I think... I think Dad would have wanted me to stick it out. Stick with the job.”

Dean felt his blood run cold. 

That hope in his heart? It fluttered and sat quite in his chest, like a dead bird in a cage.

There was a stoplight coming up, but Dean pulled over before they could reach it. The car snarled to a stop so suddenly Sam went flying into his seatbelt as Dean gripped the steering wheel hard.

“Hey!”

“Since when do you give a single, flying fuck what Dad wanted?” Dean demanded, turning in his seat to face Sam. Sam whose jaw was clenched, with his eyes forward, with his hands in fists. “You spent half your life doing exactly what he  **didn’t** want, Sam,”

“Since he died - okay?”  Sam snapped, staring ahead, not looking at Dean. His heart was pounding. It was distracting.

“Sam - “

“And what about you, huh?” Sam turned the conversation around. “What will you do without me?”

Dean’s mouth shut with a snap. 

“What do you mean?”

Sam’s eyes were sad now, angry. “Dean. You’re a Familiar now.” 

“Yeah. So?” He demanded, feeling defensive. His ‘otherness’ status was always awkward to talk about. 

It wasn’t spoken about. Then again... Dean had started this fight. Only fair that Sam threw in his thoughts into the ring.

“Fine. You want to do this here?” Sam snarled, turning fully towards Dean. 

The familiar was too good to back down, but Dean nearly flinched at the look in Sam’s eyes. Determination mingled with duty.

“We don’t have a flying fuck of an idea how this works, Dean,” Sam began to rant. “What you need to  **_function_ ** . I’m the  _ only  _ human we’ve met,  **besides** Witches, that you can talk to, that you can connect to, when you’re a dog. We don’t know why. We don’t know how.” 

He chuckled humorlessly, one hand dragging through his hair.

“There are so many things we’d need to figure out. Will the collar still work if I’m not near you? Can we even be far apart from each other or do you need to find somebody else?” He took a deep breath and looked away. “If I went back to college... would you have to come too?”

The silence in the car was stifling. Dean feeling honestly shocked. 

And it wasn’t because he’d never considered everything Sam had brought up before. He had. Oh boy, had he. It kept him up, some nights. It made him restless, angry, despairing hopeless, and so very  **dependent** . Dependent on Sam, on people, on a collar, on his ability to manage his time between dog and human forms. All his options out of his hands or directly in his brother's hands. Dean and Sam had never, ever, spoke of the tension those fears brought up, they’d never discussed this. 

Sam hadn’t brought it up out of some misguided attempt to give his brother room. 

Dean hadn’t brought it up because he didn’t want to dump this shit on his brother’s lap.

Until now. 

Dean opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Sam swiped a hand through the air. 

“Can we just drop it?”

It was both the nicest and worst thing Sam could have said. But Dean knew when to bow out of a fight that was about to get dirty, too dirty and too awful and too everything - and they didn’t have time for that.

Dean said nothing, turning back and resuming driving.

Sam kind of side eyed him. Like he didn’t believe him, didn’t believe Dean could pull his fangs when he wanted him to. Dean dutifully ignored him and focused on driving.

“... A bracelet wouldn’t work. Your dog hand - paw - whatever, is like an inch in diameter.”

Dean’s fingers just grasped the wheel tighter as he thought:

_ Well. Fuck. _

* * *

It took Sam all evening, until just when the sun was setting through the ratty, dusty motel curtains, but he figured it out. Well, Ellen helped as well. A phone call and she’d put them on the right track. Dean helped, of course - how could he not? - bouncing ideas around, researching, but it was Sam who had the final word.

**Rakshasa** . A demon straight from Hindu mythology. There was nothing written about the smell but that was per the usual. These books were not written with a Familiar in mind. They jotted down a note on a post it on that page and left it at that. What was written about everything else wasn’t comforting. Rakshasa were demons: Having a human form, feeding on human flesh and with the ability to make themselves invisible. Like a vampire though they couldn’t enter a home without first being invited. 

Which made sense seeing as the children were _ letting them in. _

“It’s not dressing up like a clown, they literally _ turn into _ a clown.” Dean confirmed with a frown. He was still a little prickly from their conversation earlier, but knew that needed to be put on the back burner. It could be discussed later... much later.

Sam gave a full body shiver. 

“ **Ugh** .”

“I told you it was the blind man,” Dean said as they drove over to the camp-grounds. 

“I never said I didn’t believe you,” Sam held up his hands to fend off Dean’s tone. “We just had to figure out how to kill him.”

“... And did you?”

“Legends says pure brass.”

“Of course,” Sam said without any humor. “It’s always brass.”

“He’s going to be going after someone tonight, you know.” Dean said, feeling his stomach fall.

Sam huffed a breath. “And how do you think he’ll find his next victim?” 

“Someone who went to the carnival, with a kid, parents. I mean... I got no clue? We could just drive around until I smell something or we see something.”

“You think you can track him?”

“He smells like nothing, Sam. I was talking more about finding the victim.”

“Alright...”

“... How though?”

“You got a thing for kids, Dean,”

Understanding dawned.

“Aw. Damnit.”

* * *

They drove around like creeps. Sam as the guy trying to lure kids into the van with his dog who was half out of the window, sniffing the wind. At least, that was the image Dean had in his mind, after Sam wouldn’t stop heckling him about his ‘thing for kids’.

It wasn’t his fault though. Was it? Kids... there was a beacon attached to them that he now understood a little better. It was like the world's best painkiller mixed with just... peace. And he didn’t know how to explain it. He couldn’t explain it to Sam. Not when Sam was in such pain, not when Sam couldn’t understand the peace he felt. It was nearly impossible. Even with their connection.

So he didn’t explain, he just sniffed the wind and tried to feel what he had felt for the child at the Carnival. 

Maybe subconsciously, he was looking for her specifically. 

Because he found her.

It was that light in the dark. Like a moon surrounded by stars. It was instinct to want to go to her. He leaned farther out the window.

_ :It’s that house.: _ Dean told Sam, pointing his nose.

“Wait.” Sam said, pulling them over to the other side of the street. “What? How can you tell?”

_ :This is where that girl lives.: _

“I thought we were looking for the knife thrower?”

: _ Well,  _ **_she’s_ ** _ what I found. _ : Dean said, settling back into the car, shaking himself to right his fur.

“What if she’s not it?”

_ :... I  _ **_hope_ ** _ she isn’t _ !:

And he hoped she was, too, because that meant they could stop it. Stop it all. Juxtaposition and dangerous.

Sam shut up after that.

* * *

Whether it be luck, or some combination of fate and Dean's special senses, they were right. Didn’t have long to wait, either. A clown appeared on the lawn out of thin air, and Dean jumped.

“Sam!” He slapped his brother's shoulder.

“Hmm!” Sam grunted as he woke from his slight stupor. “Whut?”

“He’s here.” Dean hissed as he opened the van, reaching for the brass pipe. “Come on.”

Sam may have been groggy, but he was right behind Dean, ready for a fight. The girl, Jessica, had already opened the door and let him in with a smile while Dean was rousing Sam. Both the Clown and Jessica were already inside. 

They had to hurry. A family’s life was on the line.

Sam and Dean hurried into the house, in through the already opened door, and into the dining room. The girl was saying something. Something that made Dean’s toes curl.

“My Mommy and Daddy are upstairs, wanna meet ‘em?” 

Sam reached them before the Clown could take the girl up on that. Quickly Dean transformed into his dog form, leaving the bar behind, as he went for the girl, to crowd her away from the danger. The Clown got a round of salt rock bullets into its chest, sending the girl screaming. 

The clown screamed before tossing himself out the window, disappearing into the night.

Jessica screamed for a moment longer, before Dean tried his very hardest to calm her, and it worked. It seemed she remembered him, because she threw her arms around his dog-neck and just  _ shook _ . He wuffled softly at her as Sam picked up his dropped brass pipe.

That was when the parents showed up at the scene.

“What’s going on here? Hey! Get out of my house - “

From the angle they were, it was clear the father was only seeing Sam, the lumbering hunk he was.

: _ Go _ !: Dean told his brother, Jessica crying into his fur and holding on tighter. : _ I’ll be ok, try and find Cooper _ .:

Sam obediently turned and booked it. He whispered, “I won’t go after him without you.”

_ :Bring the van to the V on the edge of that country road, I’ll meet you _ : He called out as a last, final thought, before Sam disappeared into the night, just like the clown.

_ :Just got to take care of the girl.: _

“What the hell was that, Mark?” The mother yelled as they both came trampling down the stairs.

“There was some guy!” Mark responded, rushing to the window to watch Sam’s vam race away with a squeal, “Damn, I didn’t catch the plate number, Jani.”

“Mommy!” Jessica yelled, letting go of Dean to run to her mother, who swept her up in a hug.

“Baby, oh honey, what happened?” 

“The guy came in and killed my clown! But down’t worry!” She pulled away, trying to be brave. “Dean saved me!”

“Dean?” Her mother asked, looking up to a panting Dean. “Mark! It’s the dog from the carnival!”

: _ And that’s my cue. _ : Dean thought to himself as he trotted his way out the still open door.

“Whoa!” Mark said, scrambling out of his way like he was a wolf rather than a coyote sized dog.

Before either parents could process what was happening, Dean was loping off, following the smell of Sam’s exhaust. It was only a few minutes later that a couple of cop cars whizzed by him, and he hid in a bush. Another half an hour later and he reached the V he told Sam to stop in.

_ :Why the hell are you -  _ : He transformed as he walked towards Sam. “ - Doing that?”

“They might have seen the plate, we gotta ditch the Van.” Sam said, as he shoved the plate into his bag, throwing that over his shoulder.

“They saw the van, not the plate. The dad mentioned that before I booked it.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam said, shoving his back into his hands. “Might wanna lose the collar.”

Dean threw his bag over his shoulder and fingered the neck-accessory before unclipping it. What did that say that he barely flinched at it being on his neck? What did it say he’d forgotten about it?

Ugh.

They set to walking, both lost in their thoughts. Dean thinking of anything he could not related to this case, just for a brief respite.

“You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?”

“Uhm... Yeah.” Dean said, nodding as he side-eyed Sam. “Why?”

Sam frowned before shrugging. “Observation.”

“Hmm.” Dean said, but didn’t push it. 

They walked for a few more minutes before Sam seemed to just explode. “Why do you do that?”

Taken-aback, Dean looked to Sam. 

“Do what?”

“Go all strong and silent.” Sam said, which made Dean stop. “It’s crap you know.”

“You know, I don’t think that’s exactly fair, do you?”

Sam scoffed, stopping a few feet in front of him before turning around. “When have you ever cared about fair?”

Dean felt a flare of anger as she snarled, stomping towards and then past Sam.

“When it comes to  _ you _ and  _ me _ , I’m always fair.”

That shut Sam up. They proceeded to continue walking down the road.

“I don’t know how to deal with you anymore Dean.” Sam finally admitted. “You just... you’re so different.”

“Because of the dad being dead thing? The me not shutting you out and doing regular old Dean things?” Dean grounded out, fingers making the appropriate air quotes, noticing the catch in Sam’s breath as this leaned towards topics and subjects they’d been ignoring. As he opened up. “Or because I’m a Familiar now and my life is just one giant fairy-tale with fluffy creatures, and ‘good’ witches, and lollipops, and enhanced senses, and not even _ I know _ me anymore?”

Sam was speechless for a good few seconds. Dean hated himself for being so open, but it just came out. Maybe it was leftover ‘feelings’ from that child. The girl and how she made him feel good, for a few seconds in his life, rather than depressed and empty. Wanting to understand it all. Yet, unable to.

“... Wow... You’ve been holding that in for a few months now, haven’t you...?”

“A lots changed.” Dean defended as he came back down to earth.

“No, no, don’t do this Dean, don’t shut me out, this is good.” Sam exclaimed, dancing around him and stopping him with a hand to his chest. “This,  _ talking _ , this is good.”

Dean looked at him like he’d lost his his mind. He said as much. “No, Sam, this talking thing isn’t  **good** . And it’s not me!”

“... You’ve never been this open with me,” Sam said, suspiciously. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“A lot,” Dean admitted, through clenched teeth. It was like it was being torn from his throat almost. The truth, as he’d never spoken it before. “But can we not talk about this now? We’ve got a killer clown to put down.”

“Fine. But after... we’re talking about this, ok?”

“Yes.” Dean told him, aware that as soon as this stupid high off emotions he wasn’t saying a damn thing. But Sam didn’t need to know that. Dean told himself that, like it was true.

“Alright. Clown first, then.”

* * *

The man-beast, the Rakshasa was... an interesting kill, that was for sure. Dean would remember it fondly as the time he nearly threw up mid-battle. It was the first time his nose had been a problem, but he had a feeling it would not be the last time. He’d had his nose for long enough that he had felt pretty confident that fighting a monster with no smell would be a cakewalk.

He was wrong. He was the wrongest he’d ever been. 

They entered in ready for battle only for Dean to be hit with the smell.

“Dean?”

No extra strength or heightened senses could stop him from leaning against the wall and trying not to vomit as the blind-man flew at Sam. It was like breathing in putrid guts and wet dirt. Everything smelled and was tainted. Not even the dog-side of Dean’s brain could accept the smell as anything more than horrendous and rancid. 

“Dean - ”

The blind man attacked.

Dean only heard the scuffle, unable to focus past his need to vomit and purge the horrid smell from every single inch of himself. Stomach in knots, Dean found his feet only after Sam yelled for him.

“Dean!”

He still felt awful, but the pain in his brother’s voice called out to him and he snapped to. What greeted him made his stomach knot up for a whole different reason. The man-monster had his brother cornered, stronger and more capable than one measly human no matter how huge Sam was.

Not Sam, was all he thought as he snarled.

Not. Sam.

He flew forward.

Not.  **Sam** .

The man-beast-monster of ever-changing faces, of creeping-crawling insects, who just screeched at him - That’s who Dean went for. It was a perfect target for his anger. Large teeth bit into a shoulder, tearing, wrenching. Claws scrambling. He didn’t realize he’d gone Doggie-Dean until too late.

Though most battles never lasted long, on account of stamina and the general understanding, this one felt like it dragged on and on. The man-beast threw him against the wall, and he hit. For a moment he was stunned, but then back at it. Flew forward again. Threw backward again. A constant, never-ending battle against the ache in his back, the wiggle of loose teeth, and the pant of overexertion.

He was flagging, as he was thrown for the last time, and he toddled onto unsteady feet to get right back into it.

The Rakshasa had met him punch for punch, kick for kick, bite for bite, up until the moment he stiffened, croaking a horrible sound and puffing noxious mouth-breath into Dean’s face. Collapsing right there, Dean realized Sam had come to his defense. With Dean’s distraction, Sam had been given all the leeway he needed to stab the man.

As Dean panted, he realized the slimey-grossness on his tongue was fading. The smell went away as soon as the monster was killed. It was a relief and Dean breathed deeply of air that was still rank but miles above what it had been before. Without conscious thought, which probably should have scared him, he turned back into a human, kneeling on the floor dragging hard breath into his lungs.

Sam stood in front of him panting, blood dripping from a cut on his head where he’d been thrown into the wall.

The high of adrenaline, of battle, of movement and power, still sat on Dean, heavy, like a weight. He needed to... lessen it somehow. Needed to weakeits’s hold.

“What about a necklace?” Dean asked, dusting himself off and stumbling to his feet. And Dean was only asking because it included the both of them. If it were just Dean, he would have tried this weeks ago.

“What?” Sam asked, his brow deeply furrowed.

Lost in his own battle-haze and wounds.

“You know, for the collaring spell.”

Sam relaxed. Neutral territory. Easy territory.

“Are you still on that?”

“ _ Sorry _ I don’t want to be stared at by everyone this side of the mississippi.”

“They don’t stare  - “

“Sam,” Dean sighed and that shut Sam up. “They all think I’m into some weird kinky shit. I can tell.”

“... You think a necklace would work?”

“I already wear one,” He pulled out the amulet Sam had given him. “It wouldn’t be a horrible stretch.”

Sam sighed through his nose. Looked at Dean seriously before offering, “Let’s do both, you can take the collar off when we are working cases. It might be a little much - ”

Dean felt too excited to reign in his excitement as he breathed, “I am honestly willing to try just about  **anything** at this point.”

Sam eyed him.

“Fine.” 

Dean almost started cheering.

“ _ When _ we get back,” Sam said firmly with a nod. “That sound reasonable?”

“Sure,” And then they set to burning the place down.

* * *

After two days of little sleep, killing a monster Dean was probably going to have nightmares about, saving the day, and unfortunately not avoiding any heart-to-hearts; it was nice to kick back and relax in the Harvelles saloon.

“You boys did good,” Ellen told them sliding Sam a beer and Dean a cream soda. The familiar was hesitant to try the drink, because, one; he’d yet to try soda yet as a dog or human, and two; he was kind of terrified of trying new things after the last few ended up tasting like ass, ash, or worse; but he thought to himself,  _ hell, what’va I got to lose? _

It didn’t help that Jo was subtly watching him out of the corner of her eye. 

Definitely had put her mom up to the task.

“Thanks.” Sam said, grabbing the beer and moving it directly in front  of himself carefully. Like every move he’d made. All calm, collected facade.

Dean took a swig of the carbonated drink, ready to cringe. He expected the sour bitter taste of alcohol, from so many years drinking beer out of bottles such as these, that when the fizzle reached the back of his throat he had to take a moment to  _ savor  _ the feeling. It was like eating pop rocks, except the pop rocks were tiny explosions in his throat. It was a new experience, not exactly bad, just... different.

The taste wasn’t awful either. Sharp, metallic almost with an edge of flower-dirt, or as the rest of the world called it, vanilla.

It wasn’t unpleasant. It was familiar too. Like a dream, or a taste he could not exactly pinpoint. Dean waited only just until the pop rock effect stopped before taking another sip and really trying to decide yay or nay. The third sip seal it for Dean as he realized that if he took it all in, really absorbed it all, it tasted almost  **exactly** like pecan pie.

He took a large swig, leaned his head back, and just allowed himself this moment to enjoy it all.

Monster dead. Drink that tastes like pie. And a sugary pie at that. Life was good. His shoulders unwound.

“.... Dean?”

“Hmm?” He asked, not moving.

“He didn’t hear a  _ word  _ we said,” Ellen laughed. “Did you Dean?”

Dean’s eyes snapped open and he glared, but it was only to be met with the amused faced of the three of them. Jo trying to discreetly laugh behind a rag. Sam and Ellen were a lot more open about it.

“No, I didn’t, so what? What’s up?”

Sam was nice enough to oblige him. “I was just telling them about all the work we did with the Rakshasa. And how the creep evaded your nose for the better part of a day. Ellen was asking you what he smelled like.”

Wrinkling his nose, used to getting this same question from Sam, he answered trying not to pull the memory with it.

“You ever liked garbage?”

Ellen wrinkled her nose, Jo’s face soured. 

“It was nothing, but once he turned... It was like someone had slapped me with rotted meat,” Dean could still feel the smell on his teeth. “It was kind of like that, except it wouldn’t go away. It lingered, like... bad perfume. You know that feeling, when someone throws up in front of you, and you can smell it and you want to sympathy throw up with them? It’s like that, but they threw up in your mouth,”

All of them looked green around the gills. Jo looked like she was about to sympathy throw-up right then and there.

“That... was graphic.” Ellen said, pale. Sam only smiled into the neck of his beer, hiding a smile.

“Living it is worse, believe me.”

There was a creaking and, still on hunter-high, Sam and Dean turned to see Ash entering with computer in hand. At least... Dean thought it was a computer. It was more wires and doohickies than anything else. Ash stopped just short of entering, before giving a lazy smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Where you guys been?” He asked, as he waltzed forward. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“We were working a job?” Sam reminded him.

“Job?”

“Clowns? Remember?”

“Clowns? What the fu-”

“You got something for us, Ash?” Dean asked before the man could continue down that train of thought.

Sam twisted in his seat. “You find the demon?”

Ash sighed through his nose.

“Nope. It’s nowhere around, at least as far as I can tell.” Both Dean and Sam wilted a little, perking up when Ash continued. “This fugly bastard raises his head, though, and I’ll know. I mean, I’m on it. I’m on it like divine on dog dookie.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, finally twisting his whole seat to face Ash.

“I mean,” Ash stressed turning his computer contraption around. “any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm.”

The screen showed popup after popup. One a weather tracker, another for the real meteorology used for that weather, another was map of the states. Dean didn’t know what all the others one did, some of the words meant shit-all to him. Sam, at least, seemed to understand a little more.

Dean reached a hand forward to play but he felt Ash tense up next to him.

“You mind if I?” Dean asked, feeling a little amused by Ash’s little blip of unhappiness. 

The man just sat and look at him, all lazy-eyed but clearly tense. Dean picked up his feelings before he even really paid attention to his face. Possessive bastard. He held his hands back.

“What’s up man?”

Dean pulled back with a smile, holding his hands up.

Sam shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he asked, “Ash, how’d you learn all this?”

“M.I.T.,” He said, nonchalantly, but with a tint of bitterness. “Before I got bounced for fighting.”

Dean could smell the surprise on Sam, but didn’t really know why he would be feeling like that. What the hell was M.I.T.? 

“M.I.T.?” Sam asked, but it wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Ash didn’t hear that.

“Yeah. It’s a school in Boston.”

_ Hmm, who'd a known _ ? Dean thought to himself, not really catching onto what Sam was so gob-smacked about.

“Okay, good. Give us a call as soon as you know something?”

Ash waved them off.

“Si, si, compadre.” 

Sam and Dean both rose to leave. Ash picked up Dean's cream soda and drank from it, making a confused face before shrugging and finishing it off. 

“You boys know you’re always welcome,” Ellen called out from behind them as Sam stepped through the door, Dean right on his tail.

“Thanks, Ellen.”

It was clear that she wanted to say something more, but held her tongue. She watched them leave instead, keeping her words in.

“Where you boys going?” Jo asked.

Dean smiled before looking over his shoulder. 

“I’m getting rid of the collar.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re not getting rid of the collar, it serves it’s purpose, we’re just adding... another collar.”

There was a mad scramble as she followed them out, the door shutting before they could hear what everyone said.

* * *

After everything, Jo wants to watch the ceremony. The second Collaring as Sam was calling it, which sounded like a bad B-movie or something. Dean was inclined to think that something meant porno. Which, ew, gross. But Dean didn’t voice his displeasure. He waited patiently.

“So what’s the blood for?” Jo asked, wearily as they both nicked themselves for the blood inside the bowl.

They were out back of the building, with the bowl set up on a stump where they chopped wood.

“Don’t know. It ties us together, I guess.” Sam said, as he looked between the bowl and the text message he was using. Then he added the spoonful of dirt and the leaf. As far as they knew the order didn’t matter, just the ingredients. 

“Ready?” Sam asked. In response, Dean lit the match and threw it forward. 

Sam was ready for the smoke with the necklace, but frowned as Dean had given him little time. Jo stepped back away from the smoke as it billowed slightly in her direction, like it was contagious. 

There was no set time that they had to hold the collar over the smoke, but Sam was diligent and waited until the leaf had burned all the way down. It didn’t take long, but for Dean it was just... a lifetime of waiting. He stomped his foot impatiently, waiting to feel  **something** with the magic happening in front of him.

“Okay,” Sam said gravely, which there was no reason for. Dean glared to show them that, but took the offered necklace.

It still smelled of smoke, and it itched Dean's nose cause it also smelled a little like magic too. Like Sam. He didn’t wait for Sam to give the go-ahead, he threw it over his head, where it mingled with the dog-collar for a second, he unclipped the collar, throwing it towards Sam and he transformed.

A moment of disorientation and then Dean shook his head. Looking around the ground at his paws.

There wasn’t a drop of cloth to be seen.

Feeling relieved, Dean smile-panted up towards Sam and Jo. 

_ :It worked!: _

Jo still looked weary but Sam smiled brightly.

“So far so good.”

Dean transformed back, with enough faith that he’d have clothes on, and smiled. He took a moment to check himself over. Underwear? Check. Jeans? Coat? Check. Wallet? Check!

Whew.

“Good enough for me.”

“Gotta say, Dean,” Sam chuckled, behind his fist as he tossed the other collar towards him. “I’d gotten a little too used to seeing you in a collar.”

The familiar rolled his eyes and flipped him off, fixing his new ‘collar’ as he walked away. The other collar, the dog-collar, was stuffed deep in his pocket. He knew he still had to use it, but now he didn’t have to go around looking like some kind of BDSM wet dream. 

The relief he felt was weirdly desperate. Nice, but edged with agony. 

It felt... so good.

Better than sex.

* * *

They returned to Bobby’s soon enough, with their stolen vehicle and a promise from Ash that they’d get any new information as soon as Ash could suss it out. He had all the information he needed to catch instances of omens when they happened. But they had to  **happen** first. Or he had to find new databases of data.

Dean was feeling pretty good with himself. He’d stayed a dog the entire car ride and knew, intuitively, that he would be able to hold his human form long enough to work on the Impala. It was one reason he was putting it off. The scrap-heap that was his one-true-love in life made him physically ill to look at. It took a lot of strength just to begin tearing her apart.

Sam was quiet. He drove, he parked, and he left Dean alone.

In fact, it wasn’t until the next day, early, that Dean even saw his brother.

Sam came out of the house, walked his long legs over, and stood just behind Dean as he worked on tearing out what was still useful, what could be fixed, what parts were absolutely destroyed, and what needed to be cataloged for further repair later.

“I’m sorry Dean.”

The voice of his brother came so abruptly, not even a sigh or a breath to signal he was about to talk, that Dean hit his head on the car's hood as he pulled back. 

“Ugh. Ouch.”

Sam kind of smiled sadly, wincing as Dean turned around and leaned against his baby. He held the back of his head gently, patting it with his fingers. 

“Uh, sorry about that, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled, taking his hand away. “What do you have to be sorry about? This time, anyway?”

“We’re both in a pretty fucked up situations here,” Sam said. “I just haven’t really been taking into account everything you’ve been going through. What with the whole familiar deal, anyway.”

“And?” Dean asked, crossing his arms defensively. 

“Dean, we don’t know how this is going to go.”

Sam pulled his puppy-dog face and Dean knew he was buckling.

“Yeah... Yeah I know,” Dean rubbed his face. “And you know, I can’t say I’m not angry at the situation, because I am, pissed really, but... I don’t know. I just didn’t think it would change anything.”

The puppy-dog face kicked up the sad face and Sam heaved in a gust of air.

“I wish it didn’t change anything, but I know it does... even if we don’t know how. It's just one thing after another, you know? First the familiar stuff, then the demon, dad...”

Dean stayed silent.

“I miss him, man,” Sam admitted. “And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not alright. Not at all.” 

Dean could have told him that, but wisely kept his mouth shut. None of them were alright.

“I know you’re not alright either, Dean,”

It always made his skin crawl, when Sam saw so clearly through him. Saw him for who he was without any supernatural bullshit to help him. He just knew... like Dean knew Sam. It should have been disconcerting and awkward, but this was family. Kin. 

Still, there were only so many changes.

So Dean kept quiet, not wanting to upset their strange balance.

“Yeah,” He said, instead. “Yeah.”

Sam settled in beside him, quiet, as Dean began to work again.


	3. Along came Gordon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but Dean hasn't really had to interact much with other Hunters.  
> Today, that changes when they encounter a Hunter by the name of Gordon.  
> Sam, unfortunately, is just along for another day in this crazy ride called 'life with Dean'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here ya go. This story is tons and tons of fun to write, but I have to review everything so carefully for the future things I have planned. Don't want to give too much away after all. :D Hope you enjoy our very first real branch off of season 2. And where the rest of the season really veers off into uncharted lands.

It’s been about a month.

Dean spent his time either working on the Impala or as a dog laying under the porch. Since both Bobby and Sam were well aware of the limitations of both his forms they didn’t mind much. Nor did they call him on the carpet when some days he spent all day as a dog.

They just chalked it up to depression attributed to just about everything in their lives.

What Dean didn’t tell them was it wasn't anything like that.

He carefully didn’t tell them that it was because of his performance issues.

Namely him turning into a human. Namely, him having a time limit on his humanity.

Namely, his battery being so empty it was frightening how easily he could trip, stumble, and find himself as a dog for a week to recharge himself without any say-so. HIs battery was empty, and he knew it. The itching along his spine a signal, one he had been receiving loud and clear. It was... It was just ...

He just... He **finally** , after months, wanted to run a case as a human. Fully human. Sure, heightened senses, but as a human, the entire way. He’d sleep as a dog when he felt safe too, but other than that... He wanted to hold a gun. He wanted to protect himself the human way. He wanted to speak to people, people who didn’t know about his furry side. He wanted to be human, even if it was only for show.

He wanted to be anonymous. _Human_ anonymous.

And it didn’t help that running cases as a dog made him feel _farther_ away from his father than ever before.

John had taught him all he knew - but as a dog, that was instinct, and natural talent, and guesswork. There was no John Winchester within the dog that Dean turned into. And it... it was weird. Awkward. Felt like betrayal.

The purr of the Impala made Dean smile and swipe a hand lovingly over the car's insides. With his superior hearing, he could actually hear **_how_ ** well the car was working. Any clips, wonky sounds, or catches and he’d know about it. Immediately. There was none. Hadn’t been for the dozens of miles he’d driven.

“Whoo! Listen to her purr! Have you ever heard anything so sweet?” Dean demanded, smiling as bright as ever. So when he said the Impala purred, he meant it. The sound, almost cat-like, lifted his spirits right up out of the gutter.

Sam smiled. Dean’s good mood contagious.

“You know, if you two wanna get a room, just let me know,”

Dean played along, acting as if he was protecting the vehicle. “Oh, don't listen to him, baby. He doesn't understand us.”

Sam chuckled.

“You’re in a good mood,” He noted.

“And why shouldn’t I be?”

“No reason,”

“Come on, Sam, I’m human, been saving up my body-time-share, got a case. Things are good.”

“ **Wow**.” Sam said, shaking his head. “Give you a couple of severed heads and a pile of dead cows, and you're Mister Sunshine.”

They were not sure what they were following, only that it mauled and ate livestock. Or, it was assumed to eat the livestock. Not very well, since they left a lot of it behind. The decapitated heads lead them to believe it was supernatural. Perhaps even demon or witch-related.

Which always made Dean’s heart jog a bit, the possibilities with a Witch damn near endless, but he tried to keep a calm head.

“You betcha!” Dean said, tapping his fingers. “How far to Red Lodge?”

Sam looked between the map and the road. “Bout another three hundred miles.”

After almost three months of total driving-celibacy, three hundred miles sounded like a _dream_. Sharing a private smile with his car, he shook out his shoulders and got ready for a ride.

“ **Good**.”

And then, Dean floored it.

* * *

“The murder investigation is ongoing, and that's all I can share with the press at this time,“

Dean and Sam were posing as reporters. It was a go-to disguise, and very easy to collect information with. Flubbing journalistic ID’s or press passes was a cakewalk compared to acting as FBI. The sheriff was a bigger man, late forties, with one of these most impressive mustaches Dean had ever seen. And he’d been to a lot of small towns. He’d seen many a mustache.  

“Sure, sure, we understand that,” Sam said, between glancing at the sheriff and his notepad. “But just for the record, you found the first, uh, head last week, correct?”

“Mh-hmm,” The man nodded easily, going along.

“Okay, and the other, an uh, Christina Flanigan - ”

The sheriff cut Sam off.

“ - That was two days ago. Is there -- “

A young woman knocked on the window, pointed at her watch. Dean only heard the clicking of a watch on her wrist, and the subtle shifts in the air as her hand moved, but he could paint a pretty clear picture. Her heartbeat was slow and steady, boring. Her perfume was strong. Her breath a sniff.

“Oh. Sorry boys,” The man said with a not-so-sorry smile. “Time's up, we're done here.”

Sam and Dean rose together, the younger brother beating Dean to the punch.

“One last question - “

He waited for the sheriff to lean over the desk.

“What about the cattle?”

Puzzled, befuddled, the sheriff’s brow rose and then fell fast.

“Excuse me?”

Dean took over, reveling in being human and being able to ask the questions now. You never knew how awful it was being silenced until you were.

“You know, cows found dead, split open, drained... over a dozen cases.”

The sheriff stared at him like he was an idiot. His smell didn’t seem off though, just confused, honestly confused why they cared.

“What about them?”

Sam scribbled something, a stick figure, before interrupting. “So you don’t think there’s a connection?”

There was confusion, and then there was whatever this guy was feeling. Like a mix of not-comprehending, thinking they were idiots, and also a dash of disbelief that they were even asking.

“Connection... with...?” He asked, trying to suss out their question.

“Well, first the cattle mutilations, now two murders?”

The sheriff wasn’t getting it, leaned over the desk as he was, he honestly looked like he was listening. His heartbeat stuttered only as the questions came, not as he answered. So his answers were genuine and nonplus.

Sam continued. “Kinda sounds like ritual stuff.”

“Yeah, you know, like satanic cult ritual stuff?” Dean added, listening without surprise as the man started to laugh. The bubble up from his throat and through his mustache was an... interesting sound. The sheriff had a hearty laugh. All belly.

Though it wasn’t a surprise to the two, they’d been laughed out of a lot of rooms, cities, and towns, both Dean and Sam were completely serious and tried to show that on their faces rather than call him out.

The laughter died abruptly.

Dean learned a new way to hear the truth as the man’s heart stuttered, his breath closing off for a brief moment. His eyes widening. It was all minute details, but each one screamed at him.

“You’re... you’re not kidding... are you?”

“No, sir,” Dean confirmed.

Dead serious and with no humor, the sheriff stopped just short of rolling his eyes.

“Those cows aren’t being mutilated. You wanna know how I know that?”

 _Cause you don’t, do you? And you don’t have a damn clue how the world really works, huh?_ Dean thought to himself.

Sam kept his amusement hidden as he deferred to the man. “If you wouldn’t mind, sir?”

“Because there's no such thing as _cattle mutilation_ .” The man said with such conviction Dean felt compelled to believe him. But that was just how it was with ‘normal’ people. They just saw only as far in front of their nose as they could rather than poking and prodding further. “Cow drops, leave it in the sun, within forty-eight hours the bloat'll split it open so clean it's just about surgical. The bodily fluids fall down into the ground and get soaked up because that's what gravity does.” The man’s eyes were hard as he laughed without humor. “But, _hey_ , it could be Satan.”

If Dean had a dollar for every time he heard someone try to explain that there was no such thing as ‘cattle mutilation’ or ‘demons’ or ‘vampires,’ he wouldn’t need to scam credit card companies. Sam was feeling just about the same way. They’d dealt with it nearly every day of their lives. It wasn’t a big deal to just continue pretending.

“What newspaper did you say you work for?” The sheriff asked, as his try at humor didn’t get the usual response of lucidity as it usually did. A laugh here, a smile.

Dean let Sam answer for the both of them.

Still, the sheriff just stared at the both of them. Not sure what box to put the crazy reports that believed in things like cattle mutilations, and UFO’s, and other manner of weird things. The poor man already had enough to deal with, so he told them like it was.

“Get out of my office.”

* * *

There seemed to be too many perks of being a familiar. Sometimes, Dean forgot that it was a curse because it was just so... **damn** useful. Sure, the whole turning-into-a-dog-after-midnight thing sucked, and the need for Sam (which he still hadn’t actually _told_ Sam about), the collar; all of that collectively sucked, but it wasn’t as bad as the good things were good.

Like the ability to smell blood. And other... things.

“Anything Dean?” Sam asked as they stood outside the mortuary.

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course, he was getting something. He was always ‘getting something’ as Sam worded it, still not understanding that this was everyday life, not just as a dog. He kept his snark in though so he could smell the air and process what he was getting. There was blood, lots of stinging cleaners that made him feel like he was sniffing through a lemon, and metal. It was a clean smell, altogether. He had been in a hospital, and it smelled almost the same, except with the overwhelming blood smell.

Shaking his head, he told Sam, “Blood. I can’t get anything more specific than that. We’ve gotta get inside.”

Only problem was the intern inside the room, guarding the heads of the deceased.

They both were in white lab coats they kept for occasions such as these when neither FBI nor Journalists would get them behind closed doors. Occasions such as entering into a mortuary without a license for what they were about to do to a few corpses.

It wasn’t much of a problem, even with Dean somewhat off his game, because he was experienced in this kind of deception. He could misdirect, lie, and direct attention as easily as breathing. Hell, sometimes it came **before** breathing. Now that he was a familiar he had an even greater upper hand because he could smell the kid's emotions hanging on his skin like colored paint.

Taking a deep draw of the air around him, he focused not on the blood, but on the heartbeat.

Nervous, new, the kid smelled like a newborn lamb or a fawn. He was gangly in the way all new things were. Hesitant.

Dean knew exactly which buttons to push.

“I got this.” He told Sam.

It only took a few seconds with the wildly talented Dean to see the intern, Jeff, running off after Dr. Dworkin, whom he thought was now back from vacation and royally pissed at him, leaving Dean and Sam alone in the room.

“Still got it,” Dean said with a smile as he honed in a couple of the closed doors on the morgue wall, where the bodies were kept. He picked one at random and pulled out the dead body with a box in between its legs. The box that smelled strongly of blood. The lid came off with a pop, and a puff of pure putrid, awful smelling cloud hit Dean in the face. He recoiled as if slapped.

“Ugh, oh **gross**.”

Sam snorted at him but came closer to take a look in the box, gagging behind his hand and pulling back sharply. “Oh, man, that’s ripe.”

Dean started poking around in the box with a glass stick he’d found. “Hey, you remember those Satanists in Florida?”

“Course.”

“They marked their victims, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, reversed pentacle on the forehead.”

Dean sniffed, trying to smell any dye but only managed to smell blood and death. Sam took his time observing the outside of the face, trying to find any kind of indicators of what they were dealing with.

“So much fucked up crap happens in Florida.” He said, conversationally.

“You can say that again,” Sam muttered but was far more interested in the head than talking to Dean. He reached for a pair of latex gloves and pushed the gloves-box over to Dean, who declined, he didn’t need that smell seeping through the gloves and _staining_ him. He’d rather just poke with his stick and sniff. There was bound to be something.

“No pentagram looks like an ax or a saw did this,” Dean said, pointing to the ragged edges of where the head used to attach to body. “Anything in her mouth? Did those wackos stuff anything down there? Like in Silence of the Lambs, with those moths?”

“Shouldn’t you know that o’powerful-nose?” Sam asked, grimacing as the full smell really started to hit him.

“I can’t tell you what the smell of something is if I’ve never smelled it before,” Dean told him. “Now go on, reach on in there.”

“Me? Why me? Why don’t you?”

“I’m not touching her,” Dean told him, nose crinkling. “I do, I won’t be able to **not** smell dead person for a _week_. Your human nose is dull and stupid; you’ll survive. Besides - You want me to be useless?”

Sam sighed, resigned to this new lot in life of the ‘human’ of their party. “Fine.” He breath, knowing Dean could hear him, “ _Wuss_.”

To his credit, he went right in, fingers to her mouth and digging around. His face looked like he was touching something made of week-old cheese and jello. His parlor changed rapidly. His heartbeat fluttered. His stomach gurgled. Dean was forever thankful he had never been a sympathy vomiter.

“Get me a bucket.”

“You find something?” Dean asked, perking up and looking over his hands.

“No, I’m going to puke.”

 _No constitution,_ Dean thought before something caught his eye. Something around her teeth.

“ _Wait_! Lift the lip up again?”

“What?” Sam demanded, looking at Dean like he was crazy. “You want me to throw up, is that it?”

“No, no, no, I think I saw something.”

 _There_ , just... right... **there**. Dean took his glass stick and helped Sam by lifting the lip for him. There was a hole, right above her teeth. In fact, there wasn’t just one. They followed the length of her gums.

“What is that?” Sam asked, his sickness forgotten as he got closer to see better. Dean pushed on the top of the hole, and something popped out.

It dawned on Sam first.

“It’s a tooth.”

Dean caught on and pulled back. “Sam, that’s a fang.”

Suddenly, the almost too-overwhelming smell of blood made sense. He expected it to a degree in a place where the dead rested, but this was ‘too’ much blood. He’d chalked it up at first, to being so many murders in a short period of time that it stained the place, now it made sense. Even over the smell of antiseptic and bleach. Vampires were literally just blood bags.

“Retractable set of vampire fangs. You gotta be kidding me.”

“This changes things,” Sam said with a sigh, as he quickly replaced the boxes lid.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Vampires... this would be the first ones they’ve hunted since Dad had died. Ugh. Dean was not looking forward to this. It was one thing to smell something rotten, or nothing, or dirty. But bloody? Just... blood? It was a lot. It would be extremely taxing.

* * *

It’s quiet in the Impala as they drive around. Both are figuring out the best next place to go. Where do Vampires hang out? Someplace dark, muggy, not a lot of light or sense of right or wrong. A shady place with low morals... What do they do? Are they here to hunt? It was a stupid question, but important. So far nobody else but the beheaded vampires had shown up... There were no strange disappearances. Nothing. Not for almost twelve years. Which begged the question:

_Why would they have killed one of their own?_

The nightlife was one thing that was easy to figure out, which lead them to the one place in a small town where all the nightlife was located.

The bar.

* * *

Dean smelled blood as soon as they exited the car. It was stale, but it was that same too-much-blood in one place smell. Since the place was hopping, it was clear that the smell was vampire, or at least the blood of one. Being the other option was a bar filled with dead people, and Dean had still never encountered Zombies, Dean assumed he was right about the first thought.

He filled Sam in on what he’d smelled but otherwise allowed the situation to play out. A hunt was a hunt, after all. They followed their usual script.

Entering they made a beeline for the bar, Dean smelling everyone he passed subtly, leaning against the tabletop to talk.

“How’s it going?” Dean asked the male-bartender, the usual opening line. Subtly he kept focus outwardly as well. On people's heartbeats, on their breathing, the way they laughed, the way they fell silent. It was overwhelming, but Dean tried to just focus on... change, rather than the rhythm. Unfortunately, there was too much to notice the absence of a heartbeat. It was a sea of heartbeats, and Dean wasn’t that apt at picking out one single a heartbeat from a lineup.

“Living the dream,” The man said, “What can I do you two for?”

Though it killed him inside, Dean knew he had to play his part. He ordered. “Two beers, please.”

Over the month he’d been rebuilding the Impala, he had slowly been teaching himself to just tolerate a sip or two of beer. If he could get through the first few sips, then he could stop and subtly switch Sam’s bottle out when he finished his off. Which let him ‘sip’ the empty bottle. His taste buds hated him, and Sam was plenty glad to not have to get up to get another beer, but he could keep up appearances.

And what was Dean Winchester if not appearances?

“So, we're looking for some people,” Sam said, as they were handed their beers and Dean laid down some money.

The bartender looked like he heard that line nightly.

“Sure. Hard to be lonely.”

“Yeah. But uh, that's not what I meant.” Sam may have been out of the game for a few years, but he still got it. He pulled out a 50 dollar bill, fingered it softly, never breaking eye contact with the guy, as he dropped it on the bar. The bartender took it without another word. “Right. So these, these people, they would have moved here about six months ago, probably pretty rowdy, like to drink...”

It’s then that Dean feels a presence behind them. Eyes watching them. A heartbeat picks up its pace for a mere split of a second. Someone moved uncomfortably in their chair. Follow by a long huff of breath. Smoking a cigarette, Dean thinks.

 _Interesting_ , Dean couldn’t help but adding in his two cents to the conversation in front of him, pretending he wasn’t listening as that interesting person behind him got up. “Real night owls, you know? Sleep all day, party all night.”

The man was already nodding.

“Barker farm got leased out a couple of months ago.” The man revealed the information as if he would have without the 50. “Real winners. They've been in here a lot - drinkers. Noisy. I've had to 86 them once or twice.”

“Thanks,” Dean gave him a salute before leaving his basically full beer behind. Sam following.

In situations such as these, Sam and Dean had come up with a pretty foolproof way of telling the other there was danger. And it was all about how they moved. Dean took the lead, very subtly, taking a longer step in front of Sam, waiting for a moment of eye contact, then they flowed next to each other - which let Sam know he had something to say. There were two options now, Dean could lead them back to the Impala, to safety, or they could go around the bar and surprise their tail.

The tail that he could feel from the heartbeat across the street, waiting behind a parked van, ever since it had stepped out of the bar a moment before the conversation with the barkeep had ended. With a person with a heartbeat on their tail, Dean had an interesting quandary. Could he be a blood bag? One of those people who sold themselves to vampires for the high?

He shook his head; they’d just have to ask.

Sam followed as Dean choose the later. They walked at a steady pace around the corner, quick with their long legs, but their tail gave them plenty of time to get around the last corner, walk a little faster to hid in the doorway, and wait.

Their breathing even. Their hands on their knives. They were pros.

This was just another Friday night for them.

It didn’t take long. Their tail walked his way down the alley directly after them, keeping about ten or twelve paces in front of them. His heartbeat steady, telling Dean he’d done this before. He, too, was experienced. Not nearly as much as them, but clearly, not everyone could be.

Not everyone was a Winchester, after all.

When their tail came around the corner, his steps stuttered. So did his heart, which gave Dean pause for half a second... **wait** \- _did Vampires have heartbeats?_ He wasn’t sure, he hadn’t hunted them as a familiar, and as a human, he’d rarely gotten close enough to tell.

It didn’t matter as they would confront him.

When the tail turned around, looking behind him for the two of them, they pounced. Silent, like two giant cats, they waited for him to turn around to surprise him. Sam took the right, holding him with brute strength. Dean took his left side, and held the knife to the skin of his throat, even as he knew _immediately_ that this wasn’t a Vampire.

He smelled like old-dead-dead blood, but not like blood-bags smelled of it. He was also warm, had a heartbeat, and was clearly: human.

“Smile,” Dean demanded anyway because if this was a human, who smelled like blood, he was either a hunter like them or a serial killer. Or a human blood bag.

“What?” The man demanded. And this time, the furrow of his brows, the way his eyes flashed between them... well it confused Dean.

_What kind of Hunter was this man, if he was one?_

“Show us your teeth,” Sam demanded without any flare or drama. Dean was too good to look at Sam during an interrogation, but he felt something with Sam... felt a kind of hog-red-anger that was only barely being held in.

The man rolled his eyes. _Honest to God_ **_rolled his eyes._ **

“For the love of -- Hey! You want to stick that thing someplace else?”

Dean and Sam didn’t budge an inch.

“I’m **not** a Vampire.”

Sam frowned severely, and Dean took his cues from the very-human Sam, because he could tell this guy wasn’t a vampire, knew that, couldn’t tell Sam, cause he wasn’t a dog at the moment. What he wanted to know of the man was why he was following them. The man provided the answer easily.

“I heard you guys in there.”

“What do you know about Vampires?” Sam demanded.

“How to kill them,” He replied easily enough, before turning his eyes to Dean. “Now, seriously, bro. That knife’s making me itch.”

It was the first time the man had looked directly into Dean’s eyes. Now, pure-human Dean had a few reactions to people looking into his eyes. One which was staring right back, standing firm, and showing them he wasn’t scared. The other was reserved for people he respected, who had earned his respect time after time, and that was to look away simply.

Now that Dean was a familiar he realized there was a third option. And to the naked eye, it would look like the first of his ‘human’ options.

He didn’t understand it, it was too new, but it was instinct. Looking into the man’s eyes, Dean realized something about the man. He was a stone-cold killer. He had little to no remorse for killing things, people, monsters, the lot of them. There was a deep sadness there, too, a wound too great, to large, to be taken as anything but life-shattering, life-altering. There was something in his eye that told Dean all of that and more.

And looking into his eyes, Dean saw a reflection of the man he himself was.

Dean wanted to flinch. Seeing that was... disturbing. Like looking into one's own soul. To Dean that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sure, it unsettled him to know that there was another Hunter around that seemed to mirror him, but didn’t most Hunters?

So why was he feeling so... off about it?

Dean didn’t know, so he held firm. The man tried to move forward a bit, and Sam, not knowing what was going through Dean’s mind, pushed him more fully against the wall.

“Whoa,” The man coughed. “Easy there, Chachi.”

Carefully, slowly, he brought his hand up to his mouth. Unsurprisingly, he showed clean, untouched gums.

“See?” He said, in a ‘no duh’ sounding voice. “Fangless.”

Sam pulled back first, followed a moment later by Dean.

Dean didn’t want to let up though. He felt something from the man. Something he had yet to feel from another human. It sent a chill down his spine, made his hair itch, and his ears ring, but Dean didn’t know, still, if he was a good or bad feeling kind of thing. He was still so new to being a familiar.

The man rubbed his neck.

“Now who the hell are you?”

As they walk back to his car, which was parked in an empty lot just one lot over, they chatted. As they walked, they introduced themselves, told them why there were there.

“Sam and Dean Winchester. Still can’t believe it.” The man, they learned his name was Gordon, just shook his head like it was a funny joke. “You know I met your old man once? Hell of a guy. Great hunter...” He went regretful. “I heard he passed. I’m sorry.”

And it still hurt every time someone brought it up.

Sam and Dean both nodded, in thanks for the words.

“It's big shoes. But from what I hear you guys fill 'em. Great trackers, good in a tight spot -- “

There was that itching feeling along his spine again. Dean sighed, not really sure how to take that.

“You seem to know a lot about our family,”

 _Almost more than we know,_ Dean wanted to say.

“Word travels fast. You know how hunters talk.”

This time, the pain in his chest was in direct relation to how their father had seemed to teach them _nothing_ about navigating the world of Hunters. Sure, they could research, find monsters, and kill them - but he had kept them from the community at large.

Looking to Sam h,e said, “No, we don’t actually.”

Gordon looked confused, before the lightbulb clicked on. “I guess there's a lot your dad never told you, huh?”

 _You can say that again,_ Dean thought, but shook those thoughts away. Sam asked Gordon, “So, uh, those two vampires, they were yours, huh?”

There was a proud way Gordon stood as he nodded. “Yep. Been here two weeks.”

There was a flash in his eye and it distracted Dean. Everything about Gordon was throwing off his senses. Probably because the only Hunters he’d been around since he’d been cursed were ones he had known. Now, Gordon was a whole new beast, his own kind of messed up problems Dean had to figure out if he wanted any peace and quiet in his own brain.

“Did you check out that Barker farm?” Dean said, trying to get back into the conversation and out of his head.

“It's a bust. Just a bunch of hippie freaks. Though they could kill you with that patchouli smell alone.”

Well, he was thorough. Dean couldn’t fault him on that. Dean really couldn’t fault him on much. He was a good hunter.

“Where’s the nest, then?”

“I got this one covered.” Gordon was defensive. With good reason, too, Dean thought. “Look, don't get me wrong. It's a real pleasure meeting' you fellas. But I've been on this thing over a year. I killed a fang back in Austin, tracked the nest all the way up here. I'll finish it.”

Dedication. Dean was starting to think his ‘senses’ were just warning him that Gordon knew what the hell he was. A hunter. A good one, too. Dean felt himself soften a little. This man was a Hunter, that meant he had a Hunter past, which was usually full of heartache, pain, blood, and insanity.

You had to be insane to hunt Monsters for a living.

Still... Dean was itching for a hunt.

“We could help.”

Gordon smiled but shook his head.

“Thanks, but uh, I'm kind of a go-it-alone type of guy.”

It was the truth. Dean could respect it, thought it was stupid, sure, except he really was just... needing a good hunt. A hunt that made him believe he could do it while he was human, still.

“Come on, man, I’ve been itching for a hunt.”

“Sorry.” The man shrugged. “But hey, I hear there's a Chupacabra two states over. You go ahead and knock yourselves out.”

He pushed his array of hunting weapons into his car and got it. “It was real good meeting you, though. I'll buy you a drink on the flip side.”

Then he was off, leaving Sam and Dean behind in his dust.

“Well,” Sam said, as he turned to go back to their car.

“Let’s follow him.” Dean said, staring after the car. He still didn’t feel right. He wasn’t sure if that was all Gordon or the Vampire smell following him. Or if it was something else entirely. He was still learning and it was aggravating, but Dean wasn’t one to run away from a fight.

Sam raised a brow, but now that Dean was on his way back to the car, he just kept pace with him. “Any particular reason, why?”

“I want to go on a hunt,” Dean said, simply, before staying quiet for a moment. “And there is something else... I can’t put it into words.”

Sam sounded like he wanted to argue, but pulled himself up short. “Alright, fair enough... are you doing okay, though?”

“He smells like a dead vampire. The smell... it lingers.” Dean answered. “There is something with him too... I don’t know what it is yet. I’ve never... felt it before.”

“What, you mean it's like... a familiar power kind of thing?”

“... I think?” Dean said, but he wasn’t sure. Nothing was sure anymore.

“So you knew he was a human, back there, when we had him cornered?”

Dean nodded.

“You could have told me.”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Dean looked to see Sam staring ahead, resolute.

“What? How? You want me to reveal myself to a Hunter?”

Sam opened his mouth, before closing it with a huff.

“... No, you’re right. How’d you know though?”

“The smell. He had a heartbeat. He was... warm.” Dean shrugged. “It's all guesswork right now, I don’t know what a Vampire feels like yet. I know what they smell like, but thats... that’s it.”

“So this hunt serves two purposes.” Sam said, with a small ‘ahh’.

“Yeah, well, don’t all of them?”

Sam smiled, kind of sad. “I don’t know, Dean.”

There was no heart-stuttering. Then again, there rarely ever was with Sam.

* * *

They followed Gordon by smell alone. He still smelled like dead-blood and the wind was pretty calm that night. Since it was only Dean's nose that was leading them, Dean was sitting in the passenger side, head hanging out of the car, following the mere tendrils of smell left

“You still on him?” Sam asked.

_:Yup. He’s straight ahead - Ah! Slow down,:_

Sam did as commanded.

Dean heard the screech of brakes that signaled that Gordon had stopped some far point ahead of them.

_:He’s stopped.:_

Sam pulled the car over, pulling into a shady little spot. They could see up ahead was a bunch of warehouses. Some abandoned, some not. Clearly a good place to hid for Vampires, especially at night. The younger brother jumped out of the impala, grabbing his knife and gun quickly.

Dean changed as he climbed out the window of the impala.

They were close enough that walking was going to be the fastest way to follow Gordon without him seeing them.

As they walked, Dean smelled water. The water carried along its waves the smell of blood. Dark, dark blood. Too much of it, too fresh, like a walking wound. Blood-bag, he’d even call it.

 _:Vampire.:_ He whispered to Sam, jerking his head forward to point ahead.

Gordon knew exactly what he was hunting.

Sam held a single finger to his lips, signaling that from here on out would be silence. Dean signed back :OK:, before transforming. Together they crept towards the old, abandoned warehouses. One of them smelled like scrap metal, the taste of it almost bloody, but Dean had been around the junk heap, he knew it wasn’t. The next one down smelled of wood and ...

 **Yup**. Vampire. Listening closely he heard a single heartbeat, elevated, excited. That was Gordon.

Dean pointed, letting Sam know they were at the right spot. He managed to convey they were going to go in through the back part, whereas Gordon had gone in through the front. Sam nodded once, and they both crept silently. The sound of two separate footsteps  let him know Gordon was about to make his move.

Sam and Dean made it to the back, but not before they heard a scuffle.

From there, it was chaos. The Winchester brothers made a run for it, coming up on a scene that was looking to be in Gordon’s favor. He had the Vampire, a large guy wearing a jumpsuit, against the railing. Both of them were going at each other, when the Vampire got the upperhand with its superior strength and shoved him towards a rotating saw. Gordon fought as good as he got, but he was too slow. Too weak. Too human.

Sam and Dean knew just what to do.

Sam went for Gordon’s feet, dragging him back from the saw as Dean nailed the Vampire. The monster snarled at him, showing those two sets of fangs and teeth. His breath was by far the worst Dean had ever smelled. And he’d smelled Sam’s in the morning. They grappled, Dean throwing a punch into his jaw and unbalancing him. That was the only way to get a hit. The vamp threw him a ways away. Stunned, Dean had to shake his head and the cobwebs out before he leapt up and went for a pole with a sharpened end, quickly turning around to pike the guy.

It was fast, it was brutal. Dean’s heart was pumping, his blood sang in his ears.

 **_This_ ** _. This is what he was made for._ Not some curse. This. Hunting.

The Vampire let out a horrible scream as he fell where Gordon had laid, under the saw, in the perfect position for decapitation. Dean had killed people, well monster-people. He’d run them through with swords, stabbed them, set them on fire. Sure, he mostly understood spirits, but he had killed before. It was what he did.

He had never decapitated anyone with a giant saw before. Sure, he’d gotten close when John had come back and wanted help finding the Vampires, but he’d never done it.

It was a line in the sand.

A line he couldn’t afford _not_ to cross.

With a heave he pulled the saw down sharply, the sound of flesh being torn, spewed every which way nearly made him sick. There was a kind of... sick warmth that splattered him, settling in his nostrils and ruining his sense of smell, and settled his soul. The smell, all dead blood and nothing good, hit him hard enough that he almost let go. But he finished the job, jaw clenched, dragging the saw down all the way and through the spine.

The head fell with a thump.

He breathed hard as he fell back from the scene.

For a long moment, all he did was stare at the head.

The vamp’s eyes were wide open, staring up at him in shock, while the body was completely limp, not a stiff line. The overwhelming blood smell hadn’t left, nor had it dissipated, but it seemed... less. The blood, dark and black, settled around the head, mesmerizing.

Looking to Sam and Gordon he saw two very different expressions. Sam looked struck, sick almost, in a fight with himself to look between the body of the Vampire or on Dean, the one who had killed him. It was so Sam, it was a relief.

Gordon though... he was stunned, sure, but not from the violence or the death, more from how the fight had gotten away from him. He looked more amused than anything, stared at Dean’s blood splattered face like it was something as normal as leaves on the ground.

“So, uh,” He said, with a small smile. “I guess I got to buy you that drink.”

He let out a breathless laugh too, which was more cause he was impressed by what he saw rather than intrigued. Then he just continued laughing. It was the kind of laugh of someone who was just glad to be alive. And it was deeper than that, too. Cause Dean didn’t know if Gordon _was_ glad to be alive.

Sam... well Sam looked sad. Stricken. Seeing another side of Dean he hadn’t seen before.

Or at least, hadn’t seen recent enough that he’d assumed it was gone. Like his humanity.

It wouldn’t due to dwell on that. So Dean turned away.

Dean, Sam, and Gordon cleaned up as best they could. The clothes that were torn or blood were set on fire next to the impala and left at that. The blood on their faces was cleaned up and they looked good as new. Even if Dean could only smell dead-blood on himself... it almost felt human. Being so consumed by one smell.

It was gross, disgusting, but Dean wasn’t about to let it stop him from relaxing at the bar.

Sam on the other hand...

* * *

Sam felt sick. The way Gordon and Dean had worked together to take down that Vampire... it had been impressive, sure, but something in his gut just hadn’t felt right about it. Gordon had been so... **happy** about it. He revelled in Dean’s bloody form like he was some kind of god. He laughed at the dead vampire like it had never been human, like it hadn’t had a life, and a death.

As bloody as it was.

Now he was sitting in between the two of them, feeling like this was his first kill all over again. Sick to his stomach, upset at something he couldn’t pinpoint, and just feeling wrong all over again.

Dean and Gordon laughed uproariously at a joke. They were old hat at this, Sam knew that, but it was more than that. Dean and Gordon, they seemed to share the same slights, the same humor, the same way of dealing. And now... now they were just sitting here, like everything was normal.

“I got it,” Gordon told Dean as he tried to pay for his shots. One of the only alcoholic type things Dean could stand because it burned, and burned, and just kept burning. And Sam knew that Dean would need that tonight. He had a cup of well coke, but wasn’t touching it much cause he needed to just get the shots down.

“Come on,” Dean said, acting for all the world like he had all those months ago, not-cursed Dean.

Sam didn’t realize how much he _hadn’t_ missed that aspect of Dean.

“I insist,” Gordon said, all smiles but firm. Hunter firm. Turning to the waitress he thanked her and tossed some money onto her tray. He lifted his shot to Dean, “Another one bites the dust.”

Dean smiled and shook his head just so. “That’s right!”

It’s so.... Dean. Hiding behind all his pain, uncertainty, and shakiness as if it was as easy as breathing. Sam fell even deeper into a bad mood. He had thought he and Dean were making progress. Just last hunt they’d actually talked through some things. Dean had done some talking too.

It was progress...

Now it wasn’t.

And it was all thanks to this Gordon guy, who Sam still couldn’t get a read on.

Coming back to the conversation he realized Gordon was cheering to Dean’s ‘skills’ at beheading vampires, Dean was taking it all in strides, thanking him, smiling. Ugh. It was Hunter-Flirting.

“Hey, you alright, Sammy?” Dean asked, seeming to come back to himself. His focus shifting.

Sam realized why that felt so wrong - or months, he’d been Dean’s full focus. Now, it was split.

“Fine.” Sam said, not feeling it. Dean seemed to see that, but only cocked his head, confused.

“Lighten up a little, Sammy,” Gordon said.

Sam felt a spark of anger start in him. The kind that he had been trying to stomp out.

“He’s the only one who gets to call me that.”

The good mood didn’t evaporate but it sizzled down a few degrees.

Gordon backed off respectfully.

“No offense meant. Just celebrating a little. Job well done.”

Sam wanted to scoff, wanted to just beat it into Gordon’s head that this wasn’t a ‘job well done’, it was something worse. It was a life, this job was life, not a job. And he didn’t want to deal with the specific of what he was upset about right now. Especially considering he wasn’t sure he could put it into words.

“Right. Well, decapitations aren't my idea of a good time, I guess.”

“Oh, come one, man,” Gordon said, confused now. “It's not like it was human. You've gotta have a little more fun with your job.”

Dean watched Sam, trying to feel him out. Sam could tell something was wrong with him. Maybe it was the high from killing that vampire, or something was off with his nose, or maybe the connection between them was waning - Dean didn’t look nearly as understanding as usual.

With a sigh, Sam set his hands on the edge of the seat and pushed up.

“Look, I'm not gonna bring you guys down. I'm just gonna go back to the motel.”

“You sure?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Sammy,” Sam turned around, quick to catch the keys as Dean threw them. “Stay safe out there,”

Sam felt a little of the hard rock in his chest soften as he exited the bar.

 _There we go_. That was more like the Dean he was getting to know after his long exodus from his family. As he left, he breathed deep the night air, feeling that coil inside of himself tighten. He still had something to take care of.

Gordon was off.

When Sam got back to the motel room, he was quick to call Ellen, she was his closest contact to the bigger, better, meaner Hunter Network. Bobby was next if Ellen didn’t know anything, but it was after ten, so it was a good call that Bobby was probably asleep. Ellen ran a saloon; late nights were her mornings.

**_“Harvelle's Roadhouse.”_ **

“Hey Ellen, uh, Sam Winchester.”

**_“Sam! It's good to hear from you. You boys are okay, aren't you?”_ **

“Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. Got a question.”

**_“Yeah, shoot.”_ **

“You ever run across a guy named Gordon Walker?”

**_“Yeah, I know Gordon.“_ **

“And?”

**_“Well, he's a real good hunter. Why are you asking, sweetie?”_ **

“Well, we ran into him on a job and we're kinda working with him, I guess.”

**_“Don't do that, Sam.”_ **

“I - I thought you said he was a good hunter.“

**_“Yeah, and Hannibal Lecter's a good psychiatrist. Look, he is dangerous to everyone and everything around him. If he's working on a job you boys just let him handle it and you move on.”_ **

“Ellen - “

**_“No, Sam? You -- just listen to what I'm telling you, okay?”_ **

“Right, okay.”

After the phone was hung up, Sam sat on the bed and realized that for all of Dean’s familiar powers, the curse and all its usefulness, it was him, the human, that was right about Gordon.

Wasn't that a bitch?

* * *

It had been a long time since Dean had sat and talked with a Hunter, mono-a-mono. The last time was with his father, and that wasn’t much more than just talking about their last hunt, strategies, and silence. Unable to even share a beer because of Dean’s freaky-weirdness.

With Gordon, there was camaraderie. It was new, too, and it was exciting. They talked and talked, and it was like staring at a reflection of himself. Dean had never thought there could be others like him, **specifically** like him, in the world, but here he was. Wrong about that.

They each had a sad past. Gordon’s sister gone, taken by Vampires, Dean’s mother dead on the ceiling. They each killed things to ease their own sorrows. They battled for others, for those that couldn’t battle for themselves. They traveled the world, going everywhere and belonging nowhere.

A meeting of the minds. Dean and Gordon had so many similarities it was startling.

And now that Dean couldn’t smell, he almost felt human enough to believe it.

Almost.

But as much as Dean was like Gordon and Gordon was like Dean - there were differences cracking up through the surface of their conversations. They way he talked about monsters, about Vampires, Dean agreed with, but there was also that tickle in his chest, which made him wonder what was wrong with him.

He was cursed, not a monster, but every time Gordon talked about monsters, about Vampires, Dean couldn’t help but remember that **he** was **one**. He turned into a dog. Granted he had control of it and didn’t have a hankering for human flesh, but it was still monstrous...

So their conversation never broached any forbid topics. They never touched on horribly inappropriate things.

They talked about experience, and through their experience, Dean realized it didn’t matter what he felt about Gordon.

Because Gordon was a good Hunter.

“Know why I love this life?” Gordon asked, as the night began to wrap up around them.

“Hmm?”

“It's all black and white.” Gordon said, seriously, with a smile. “There's no maybe. You find the bad thing, kill it.”

Dean couldn’t help but nod along, Gordon was completely right. And the way Gordon’s eyes sparkled as he talked. It was passion. He could feel it in his heartbeat. He didn’t need his extra good nose, or super hearing, or anything abnormal to get the full picture to know that Gordon got **it**.

“See, most people spend their lives in shades of gray. Is this right? Is that wrong? Not us.”

There is something off with what he is saying, but Dean can’t find a whole lot of fault. He’s right.

Sammy though...

He said as much and Gordon just stared at him.

“Doesn't seem like your brother's much like us.”

Which startled Dean. Of course, he was! Sam was as good a Hunter as any, better, too. He was quick, he was brilliant, he was the brains and he had the brawns to back it up.

“I'm not saying he's wrong. Just different. But you and me? We were born to do this. It's in our blood.”

Still, something was wrong with the picture Gordon painted, but Dean wasn’t sure what. So he just drank his coke, the last shot he’d had almost an hour ago still fizzling in his mind, making it not as clear as he’d like.

* * *

Thinking makes Sam thirsty so he goes to the vending machine to grab a coke. He’s distracted, but as soon as he hears a strange sound, out of ordinary for a night like this, he stiffened.

_What was that?_

Sam was on guard now. He took slow, sure steps back to his room, making sure to keep his ears and eyes open for anything. There were vampires around, after all, it wouldn’t do to be caught unaware. Still, he power-walked those last steps to his door and quickly entered. Leaning hard against the front door as nothing jumped out at him.

Whew. Safe.

With a deep breath, he walked further into the room.

Suddenly, he was attacked. Whoever it was managed to get an arm around his throat and squeeze. Sam was a huge strong guy, so he knocked the attacker off only to be attacked by another. He fought for all he was worth, succeeding in getting away from one, then another, before one of them konked him over the head with something heavy enough it wiped him out.

His last thought only on the fight.

* * *

Sam took detailed notes in his mind of where they were taking him. Since he had been bundled into the car he was in two minutes had passed, he was a on a very bumpy gravel road, and two hands held him in place on each side of his shoulders. They pulled up to somewhere and then lead Sam none-to-kindly to a chair.

It doesn’t take them long to tie him down and remove the burlap sack over his head.

Blinking in the waning light of the evening, Sam realised there was a man in front of him. A familiar man. The bartender from earlier that day. He was all fangs, his breath smelled awful, and he was walking towards Sam. Sam’s first thought was: **_Damnit, Dean, your nose sucks._ **

_This is how I die,_ Sam thought to himself, second, only able to be really pissed at Dean for his date with Gordon rather than having his back.

As the vampire advanced on Sam, a woman appeared in the doorway.

“Wait! Step back, Eli.”

Eli pulled back, his fangs retracting. Sam could feel his heart pounding, could feel relief course through him. He had been so close to death. The woman walked over and pulled off Sam's gag. The younger Winchester took a moment to move his tongue around. The woman wasn’t young, probably early thirties, and she had a simple face.

“My name's Lenore. I'm not going to hurt you. We just need to talk.”

Sam’s face must be incredulous, and he makes sure they know it.

“Talk? Yeah, okay,” Sam tried to keep the nervous energy down, playing it cool. “But I might have a tough time paying attention to much besides Eli's teeth.”

“He won't hurt you either. You have my word.“

Sam stared at her. Her word? Her word was about as useful as pre-chewed gum. She had to know that’s what Sam thought of her. Yet... She had offered it. She was serious.

“Your word? Oh yeah, great, thanks. Listen lady, no offense but you're not the first vampire I've met.“

Lenore didn’t smile, it was too serious of a situation, but she tried to connect. “We're not like the others. We don't kill humans, and we don't drink their blood. We haven't for a long time. “

“What is this, some kind of joke?” Sam demanded. He had met a few monsters who had toyed with him and Dean before they tried to kill them. It was a trap. Except... they’d never really had him tie up before. It was always to gain their compliance, and then the betrayal afterwards.

“Notice you're still alive.” Lenore raised a brow.

She was serious. As serious as a heart attack, it seemed. And she had kidnapped him to... what? Talk? No. There was more to it than that. Suddenly, Sam was way more interested in the ‘why’ and ‘how’, than the what.

“Okay, uh, correct me if I'm wrong here, but shouldn't you be starving to death?”

The logistics of an entire coven surviving not eating humans... There was no logistics for that. No logic, either.

“We've found other ways.” She looked completely disgusted. “Cattle blood.”

Sam’s mouth popped open and dropped. “You're telling me you're responsible for all the -- “

“It's not ideal, in fact, it's disgusting. But -- it allows us to get by.”

“Okay, uh, why?” Sam demanded. To him it seemed pretty cut and dry that they would want human blood, they were strong enough to get it, too. With or without force. Sam was also an academic. And this was... fascinating. Something choosing to fight core programming was an anomaly. And there were two right in front of him.

“Survival.” Lorene said simply. “No deaths, no missing locals, no reason for people like you to come looking for people like us. We blend in. Our kind is practically extinct. Turns out we weren't quite as high up the food chain as we imagined.”

Sam understood then. It was impossible not to. These Vampires, they were trying to be... human. Trying to make some kind of difference if not for themselves than for their family. And Sam could understand that... he did understand that. His visions made him feel so... other. Dean being a dog half the time didn’t help. Yet, it did help. Not that Sam would ever, ever reveal that to Dean.

Lorene must have sensed he was beginning to come around to the idea because she relaxed marginally. Eli on the other hand...

“Why are we explaining ourselves to this killer?”

“Eli!” Lenore snapped.

“We choke on cow's blood so that none of them suffer.” Eli spat, not winning a lot of points in Sam’s book, but sympathy, sure, he had that in droves for them. “Tonight they murdered Conrad and they _celebrated_.”

“Eli, that's enough.”

“... I get it.” Sam whispered, his head falling back. Subconsciously he was exposing his throat, which was a mistake but he was thinking of Dean now. Of his curse. Of Gordon and his hate of Vampires that could so, so easily be transferred to a familiar. To anything he deemed a threat. “I get it. You don’t need to say any more.”

Eli looked unconvinced. “How would you know? You’re a Hunter, you bath in our blood with pride.”

“Shut up, Eli,” Lenore said, her eyes only on Sam. Things fell into place in her mind. Things clicked. “You’ve got someone, don’t you? Someone like us... but a little more palatable for your human mind?”

“You could say that.” Sam conceded, mouth in a firm line.

Lenore nodded, leaving it at that. “It does not matter. What's done is done. We're leaving this town tonight.”

That confused Sam.

“Why bring me here? Why are you even talking to me?”

“Believe me, I'd rather not,” Lenore admitted. His lip tugging up in a snarl of disgust. “But I know your kind. Once you have the scent, you'll keep tracking us. It doesn't matter where we go. Hunters will find us. Even Hunters that might be... sympathetic.”

Sam understood then. “So you're asking us not to follow you,”

“We have a right to live. We're not hurting anyone,”

Once, Sam might have thought otherwise. Once, Sam might have killed these Vampires for their slights, their murders already committed. Once, was not now.

“I believe you,” Sam said, and he knew it was a mistake to just... trust a vampire, but she hadn’t killed him. Nor did it look like she was going to. She was talking. She was _sharing_. Sam had been around a lot of monsters disguised as humans, and they didn’t share anything, except their fangs and stomach.

Lenore was looking at him, staring through him, she then crouch in front of him. “You really do, don’t you?”

“Your story is convincing.” Sam said, feeling uncomfortable at how close she was.

“You know, nobody has ever believed us before,” She said, shrewdly. “But I can hear the blood in your heart. It’s steady. You’re... You’re being truthful... ”

“As you said,” Sam said, with a grimace. “I know someone.”

Lenore continued staring, before she backed off.

“Thank you.”

“So what now?”

“We let you go.”

And then, they put the burlap sack over his head and proceeded to frog-marched him outside, back to the car.

They were letting him go, but not letting him see where they were. Smart.

It’s what Sam would have done.

* * *

Dean’s nose isn’t work at all. The blood has seeped into his sinuses and made him feel like he was a walking blood-bag himself. He stepped under the shower head and tried to find a way to clean his nose out. The water felt good, hot and sweet, and it marginally sloughed off the smell.

It took almost ten minutes, but he could almost smell mold on the edge of his senses and that was good enough for him.

He got dressed, exited the shower, and then realized that the shower had done nothing for his nose. The dead-blood smell was still everywhere, it stuck to everything, which was impossible...

Right?

Sam hadn’t been at the motel when he had arrived, but since he didn't have the best nose, he hadn’t worried. Sam was probably off getting a salad. Taking a walk. Who knew what college had instilled in him? He hadn’t worried at the time. There was no reason, too.

Now though... The room, not just inside his nose, _smelled_ like vampire.

Gordon was sitting at the table, going over a map. “Come over Dean, this is what I’ve got so far.”

 _You’re just being paranoid_ , Dean convinced himself, sitting across from Gordon.

They talked strategy for a few minutes, where the door opened on Dean bringing up his brother’s absence.

“It’s not like him...” Dean said, just as Sam walked in.

“Speak of the evil,” Gordon said, all charming. Dean was frowning.

“Where were you?”

Sam looked a little beat up but he barely spared Gordon a look. “Can I talk to you alone?”

With his nose better, Dean could smell some anxiousness on Sam’s skin. That and Vampire. Fresh, less than minutes old.

Thoroughly intrigued and a little impressed if Sam took out a Vampire coven, Dean rose.

“You mind chillin’ out for a couple of minutes?” Dean asked Gordon.

* * *

Dean knew immediately in the clear night air that something was off with Sam. The vampire blood in his nose still muddied things, but not as much as before. He could pick up anxiety, surprise, and something else on Sam’s skin. He reeked of Vamp though, so there was that. But... wait. Had Sam been covered with blood? Had he even touched one of the vamps? Maybe he was just running on a high. Escaped, killed a few of them. Dean was being especially patient as he waited for Sam to tell him.

They got out into the parking lot before Sam kept walking, well out of earshot of... anyone. Dean didn’t like that.

“We gotta rethink this hunt.” Sam finally admitted, swiping at his mouth, a gesture of uncertainty.

Dean’s eyebrows nearly fly into his hairline. “What are you talking _about_? Where were you?”

Dean knows immediately before Sam speaks, that he isn’t going to like whatever Sam’s about to say.

“In the nest,”

Dean’s heartbeat **did** leap out of his chest as he pulled Sam closer by his bicep. He checked him over visually.

“You found it or they found you?”

Based on Sam’s rebellion in the form of silence, Dean knew the answer.

“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” Dean tried to both breath in the scents surrounding Sam and also talk. Its... decidedly different. “How did you get out?... How many did you kill?” Dean demanded well before his mind caught up with him.

 _Wait_.

He wasn’t covered in blood. He didn’t smell exhausted. He looked... well, roughed up but not **beaten** up. He looked like he was just stressed not battle-worn. Like he had just poured over books all night rather than go toe-to-toe with a Vampire.

“None.” Sam told him and Dean knew immediately that this conversation is one he will **not** enjoy.

“They let you go.” Dean said, in wonder. His stomach was in knots that his brother was in danger in the first place. Without him watching his back. Even worse, he couldn’t fathom why they would let Sam go. Couldn’t fathom why they kidnapped him in the first place. Honestly, Dean thinks he might have just short-circuited his own brain.

“Yeah.” Sam said, shaking his head. “They just... we talked and then they let me go.”

 _Oh hell no_ , this was not good. Could Vampires control humans? Wasn’t that one of those myths that was proven false?

“Sam...”

“No, Dean, that’s all they did.” He patted himself as if to show him he was fine. “And Dean... I don't think they're like other vampires. I don't think they're...” He looked around to check for eavesdroppers. “killing people.”

It was a bombshell. It was also a topic so completely alien Sam might as well just announced he was gay, going to live on the moon, and in love with a sheep. Monsters... Monsters wee monsters. Supernatural beings killed humans, ergo, they had to die. Dean knew this. Dean knew Sam **knew** this. It was a truth more universal to them than breathing. There was no wiggle room for thinking of those monsters as... human.

Winchesters didn’t question if monsters were any part human.

They questioned _only_ what was the best way to kill them.

And then that ideology had been thrown straight into the trash as soon as Dean had been bitten as a Familiar.

Not that Dean still didn’t believe it. He just... now knew that apparently, Familiars were on the short-list of creatures that didn’t lust for human blood.

Yet.

“Sam,” Dean stared at his brother as if he had two heads. Not a little bit uneasy, but a whole lot of rolling sickness in his own gut. “Don’t be an idiot... You’re joking, right? You’re joking. In case you missed it - Vampires **eat** people. That’s the only way it's been. That’s the only way it's _ever_ been.”

Because... Because Sam couldn’t be right. Vampires couldn’t be... _fallible_ . They were beasts, monsters. They were the thing under boot, not human, perhaps once, but they were lost as soon as they sucked their first person dry. It was known everywhere. Every Hunter would say the same thing. Hell, most every _monster_ would confirm it. Would delight in informing anyone who asked.

“It’s true. They said so...” Dean almost relaxed, but then Sam had to go and say: “And I believe them.”

“How do they stay alive?” Dean demanded. “Or undead, or whatever the hell they are. Huh?”

Dean’s heart was racing as Sam answered.

“The cattle mutilations. They said they live off of animal blood.”

 _Animal blood? Well. I mean. It_ **_is_ ** _blood._ Dean thought to himself, closing his mouth with a clink. It was... possible? Could this... could these monsters really be trying to change? Go vegetarian?

It seemed impossible. Yet... It all made sense if Dean allowed himself to look at everything from a far less jaded perspective (which he was finding himself slipping into with ease these days). Pieces of a puzzle laid out over the past few days that no Hunter worth his salt would have actually _paid_ any mind to - blazing in his memory. The truth. The pieces. As simply as that.  The only thing that could tear that puzzle to pieces was Gordon.

And boy did Dean want that puzzle to be torn apart. It was much easier than having his entire life torn apart, wasn’t it?

“Look at me, Dean.” Sam said, snapping his brothers attention to his face. He made sure Dean was paying attention as he slowly, surely, without falter told him, patting himself over his shirt:

“They let me go without a _scratch_.”

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Dean thought as his eyes slid shut. If anything, Sam believed the Vampires so surely that Dean almost couldn’t help but **believe** him. He didn’t want to believe him. He wanted to believe Gordon. He wanted to fight, to kill. That was what he was good at. No remorse. No stops.

He was a Hunter.

And... unfortunately, he was a Familiar, too. Which made Sam’s opinions too important to really tear apart, which made his mind feel muddied, sure, but also it was a comfort. If there was one person he could trust with his entire life, it was Sam. If there was one person who he could trust, implicitly, with anything, it was Sam.

Gordon was forgotten as Dean sighed.

“Alright. You believe them.”

“And?”

“You realize if you’re wrong, people will die... right?” Dean had to make one more stab at it. Only Sam had already thought of this and only nodded his head, resolutely.

“I believe them, Dean,” Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “They don’t deserve to die.”

“They’ve killed before, Sam,” Dean tried, one last ditch effort to lose this haziness over his mind that made him consider far more than he normally would have. “What’s to say in a few years, they get comfortable, they kill again?”

“... They deserve a second chance.” Sam said, and this time, it wasn’t like he was talking about Vampires. It sounded like a whole different situation. It sounded... personal.

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean said, taking a step back and another. It was too much. “And what about Gordon? Huh?”

“Ellen says he’s bad news, man, a good Hunter but... she told me to stay away from him.”

Dean almost wanted to question what Ellen’s opinions had to do with anything, but stopped himself. There was only one thing that would settle his mind. Which, made him itch and want to run from, but he stood his ground.

“You’re taking me to those Vamps. I want to talk to them myself.”

“Ok.” Sam said, as if he wasn’t blindfolded the entire time he was in the car, and they turned back to the motel.

Back in the room, Gordon was sitting at the map, he smiled as they entered. It waned as Dean didn’t smile back.

It had only taken them less than a minute to walk back, but Dean had come up with plans with far less in the way of resources. So. He had a plan and he knew he wasn’t going to like Gordon if they ever met again after this. Especially if the Hunter guessed (correctly) that they had come up with this plan specifically to help Vampires.

Gordon watched them walk back into the room with thinly veiled interest. He was up out of his chair, and packing away something in his bag, but now he was stopped.

“What’s up, Dean?”

Dean heard everything in that tone. It was such a Hunter mannerism. Tightly coiled, ready to launch out in an attack, no matter that there was none on the horizon. Which Gordon didn’t need to know.

“A buncha vamp’s jumped Sam,” Dean said, making sure his voice was exactly as cold as an ice cube.  Stilted. “He defended himself, and they ran off - but this is fucking personal now. We’re ending this tonight,”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed, but it wasn’t in suspicion.

Of course, why would it?

Vamps were vamps. Hunters were hunters. Until the sun exploded or armageddon happened that wasn’t about to change.

Except for tonight.

And only for tonight.

“You get anything from them?”

Sam frowned severely. “Nada. Jumped and ran, that was it,” He shook his head, unable to stop himself from twitching and shaking from the adrenaline that had waned and was now not even there. Except it felt like it was. “Fuck, that was close...”

“We were thinking to spit up?” Dean demanded, more of an order. “You take the south of town, we’ll take the east?”

Gordon was nodding, already reaching into his pack and pulling out some stakes to tuck into his belt, his knife onto his leg, and speaking. “Sounds good. I was just about to suggest that. You guys going on foot or car?”

“Car,” Dean said, immediately. “You?”

Gordon flashed a sharp smile. “Not my first rodeo,”

Dean smiled right back. All sharp, jagged edges that spoke of a hard life, and a harder lifestyle.

“Then let’s get these sons of bitches.”

Gordon was going to kick his ass after this. Dean knew it.

Still.

Sam asked for very little. And if giving vamps the benefit of the doubt was on the menu for this month then... Dean wasn’t about to say no.

* * *

Sam remembered how they brought him back to the motel almost to the letter. It was impressive, it made Dean proud. Sam recounted every turn they took (backwards to him), how long they went for, and even the quality of the road. It made Dean remember that his memory was that good, too, but he’d been lacking in utilizing it because everything had just kind of gone to shit with his cursed-status. The power, his nose, learning how to control it all... it had kind of gone to his head, he wasn’t above admitting that.

“Take a left here,” Sam commanded. A tingle ran up Dean’s spine, but he followed of his own free will.

“This the place?” Dean asked after a minute of driving down a long, dark road only to come upon a single, white house.

“I had a bag over my head, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes. “I don’t know...” Then in a much lower, fainter voice, he whispered, “Was I here?”

Dean took a deep breath after rolling down the window and wanted to gag. **Ugh**. He would never get used to the smell of too dead-blood, Vampires. Even so, with the overwhelming smell, Dean knew Sam’s scent like he knew the scent of a good burger. Distinct.

“Yup.” Dean coughed. “Definitely.”

Sam asked in concern. “You okay there?”

“Fine, fine.”

Dean waved him off as he opened the door and got out.

The place stunk worse than the bar. Which was **almost** impressive. This must be the nest, Dean decided, careful with how he walked and how he kept himself aware.

After years of being taught stealth around supernatural creatures, Dean nearly had a heart attack as Sam called out.

“Hey! Lenore!”

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean said, holding his chest. “Give a guy a little warning, woulda?”

“Sorry,” Sam said a tad sheepish before turning back and resuming his yelling. “My brother just wants to ask you a few questions!”

 _Damn right I do,_ Dean thought to himself, while watching the front door.

Nothing moved.

“Maybe they already moved out?” Dean asked, when nothing happened after a few more seconds.

Sam frowned, but confirmed Dean’s suspicions.

“They **were** packing up.”

“Well, if they won’t invite us in, let's invite ourselves.”

Sam had to jog for a moment to catch up to Dean.

The smell was stronger on the porch and would only get stronger still inside the den of these monsters. Dean didn’t want to continue, but he had to see if Sam was right. Call it what you will, but Dean didn’t exactly enjoy the pain... he just knew he needed to know. Needed to know if he himself was an anomaly, like Tanner, or if there was something... else.

_How much was choice? How much was nature? How much could the Vampires get away with? How far could they go before they snapped?_

He knocked but ended up pushing the door open. It was unlocked.

“Dean - “ Sam tried to stop him, but Dean was this far, what was a little farther? Dean was already inside.

The little house was quaint. No blood on the walls, or seeping from the floorboards. It just **smelled** like death. It was well lived in, though, obvious the Vampires had not finished packing.

Well, that was **_also obvious by the four Vampires he now faced_ **.

 _Huh,_ Dean thought to himself, _well shit._

To Sam, the woman had been pretty plain, but he couldn’t **see** like Dean could.

All of the vampires had black eyes, darker than any human. Their skin was a touch too alabaster, especially on the black guy. Humans could be pale, but this looked was almost... powdered. Their chests didn’t move, no heartbeat echoed in the room. They were all dead. There was no real beauty to them, they screamed danger to him, but Dean didn’t know how human’s saw Vampires so he couldn’t really compare - but they might even be considered harmless to the naked eye.

Dean wanted to make them stay dead. Every instinct, every single bone in his body wanted to tear their heads from their shoulders. He held onto his sanity, onto his bloodlust, for the sake of Sam. He put away everything his father had trained him to do, and listened to Sam.

It was trust. Trust in a way Dean would never let Sam know about... it was embarrassing. Though Dean had an inkling that Sam already knew.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Lenore said, arms crossed severely but no real expression on her face. “So talk.”

Dean jutted his chin just-so, uncomfortable, he took as long as he could just trying to figure out how to read this woman in front of him.

“My brother,” He jerked his head back to Sam, “Says you eat animals... that true?”

He listened, he smelled, he waited for any kind of change to indicate lying, a new tempo to this Vamp in front of him. Instead, he got a bunch of nothing. Resounding nothing. He may as well have been talking to statues. The vampire’s bodies were dead. It wasn’t such a shock that their bodily functions were as dead as they were.

“It’s true.” Lenore said, but she looked curious now. Her own nose was almost on par with his, he could tell, by the way, she subtly sniffed at him. She found something off, he could tell, as her eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn’t think she knew what. Maybe there was a politeness in the monster community, because she didn’t say anything. Held her tongue and watched him, much more wearily than she had his brother.

Good. He was rare enough that these Vampires had never smelled him. Probably.

Back to the lying. So... he couldn’t tell a lie by smell or by sight. Dean had to go a little deeper than that.

“Tell me an outright lie,” Dean commanded, watching to see what she would do.

Lenore cocked her head, observing him. “Why?”

“Curiosity.” Dean said with false charm and smile.

“I’m in love with you.”

Neutral ground. Brought him into it too. Made sure he _knew_ it was a lie as well - _There_.  Dean leaned forward the tiniest bit to really absorb it all. It was a change in a small, subtle way, a shift between the deadness already stuffing his nose and the blood. There was the faintest, tiniest, stupidest small twitch in her heart, too.

It could have been a coincidence, but Dean rarely believed in those.

Plus, he’d been listening to their bodies as they had talked before Sam and he had knocked on the door and barged in. He had a baseline.

“Huh, would ya look at that.” Dean said to himself, except nothing whispered was not overheard in a room of Vampires.

Lenore tensed up. “Look at what?”

“Dean?”

“I believe them, Sam,” Dean said without really thinking of the consequences of his actions, he turned and started walking away. “Let’s go pack up the motel. I don’t want to be around when Gordon realizes we sent him the wrong way,”

Behind him, as he got only three steps, he heard from the bartender, “Wait... that’s it?”

“Good enough for me,” Sam declared, following Dean.

“No, wait! What the hell was that?” One of the other Vampires, a younger looking guy, was staring at them both completely bamboozled. Both Sam and Dean stood, waiting. If they became irate and attacked, well then they would take care of the problem. They were already ready.

“What was what?” Dean demanded.

“What you did? You came in looking for a fight, I could... I could feel it.” The kid said, looking scared, and befuddled, and all sorts of out of sorts.

Dean took a moment to think it over.

From all the trouble these Vampires had caused, he wasn’t about to just give them a free pass.

“None of your business... and I would suggest you go. There are other Hunters out there other than us. We sent the one who was with us to the other side of town... You should take the time to run in the opposite direction.”

“And,” Dean said, right before he turned back around. “I apologize for killing your...”

“Benjamin,” Lenore supplied.

“I apologize for killing Benjamin.”

Then they left, and Dean decided then and there that next to his actual first-turning into a dog, this was the weirdest day of his life.

“I am so pissed, Sam,” he said, well within earshot of the Vampires as they stepped onto the porch. “So, fucking pissed.”

“I know, Dean... You gonna fill me in in the car?”

“Oh, you know it.”

And Dean was acting like it wasn’t a big deal, like his entire world crumbling around him wasn’t fucking life changing. He slapped on his biggest fakest smile and tried to ride the pain out. Ride the pain of his entire world, his mind, the structure of his life - fell around him. Dean wished he had never been cursed. Because then, at least, he could have been ignorant of all the change.

But now... now four innocent people -  monsters - were safe all because he had a better nose, a better sense of people, and Sam...

Sam was right. He couldn’t leave Dean. Not just because of the familiar nonsense, but because Sam was his moral compass. A moral compass he apparently lacked in droves.

They drove away, back towards the motel. Dean told Sam all the small nuances that he had missed, all the smells, the feelings, subtle changes in the Vamps that had told Dean what he needed to know. Once he was finished, the Impala fell into heavy silence. Sam trying to dissect a world that Dean lived in, but that he would never touch. It was in that silence that Dean realized he needed to be honest. It hurt, sure, but honest was best. It kept casualties to a minimum. It saved a bunch of Vampires... and if it saved Vampires, who else could it save?

_What would have happened had Dean not had trust in Sam? If he didn’t have that connection with him? If he had trusted Gordon, a Hunter after his own heart?_

Clenching the steering wheel, Dean knew he had to say what had been heavy on his mind. The one thing that Sam had revealed during the clow-debacle that had stayed with him, that had stayed true to him, but that Sam was still uncertain about.

“You were right, you know.” Dean said, staring ahead, he couldn’t look at Sam when he said this. He couldn’t.

But if one of their worlds was torn apart, wasn’t it fair the others was too?

“About what?”

“... I don’t think you can go back to college.”

Sam reacted viscerally.

“Whoa, whoa, where did that come from?” Sam demanded, turning in his seat, but Dean didn’t dare turn to him. “Dean...”

“There are some things... that I haven’t told you.”

There. He said it. It was real now. It was a **problem**.

Sam stayed silent for a whole half of a second.

“About what?”

“About being a Familiar,”

“... What do you mean?”

It was clear he was trying to be calm, but the uptick in his heart gave it away. Sam is nervous.

“Consider we just let loose a bunch of vegetarian Vampires on the world,” Dean dryly said. “I’m gonna ask you to keep an open mind.”

“You know I will.” Sam said, and Dean could imagine his face. That serious face of his when he was getting ready to enter battle. That face that he put on for battle, and research, and the hard aspects of life. Dean knew this deserved his full attention, no matter that he didn’t want to do it, so he pulled over on the side of the road.

He may not turn to Sam as he spoke, but at least his whole attention was on him. And Sam’s on him.

“A few months into the curse, I stole Tanner’s number from Dad’s phone.”

“Tanner?” Sam asked.

Dean reminded. “The other Familiar. That Dad knew?”

“Ah.” Sam shook his head. “Oh yeah. I’d forgotten about him.”

“I hadn’t...” Dean admitted, taking a deep breath. “When I could hold my human-form for a few hours, I called him and asked to meet. I wanted answers.”

He could still remember that conversation. Tanner being calm and level headed as he explained everything about being a Familiar. Things he knew, things he only guessed at, and the horrible mythos. The worse reality. What Dean could expect, what he needed to be ready for.

“I’m guessing you got them.” Sam said, softly.

“You bet I did.” Dean confirmed, but it didn’t feel all that great.

“And you never told us because...”

“Because it scared the living shit out of me? Because it confirmed things that I didn’t want confirmed? Because it...” Dean stopped himself, realizing he was getting pretty emotional. He let go of the wheel in front of him, rubbing feeling back into his hands. He leaned his head back against the headrest.

 _Because it was the truth and it confirmed I’m a monster,_ Dean left out.

“It’s that bad, huh?”

“Worse.” Dean assured him, rubbing his face down. How had his night turned into this?

“Well... uh, maybe you should start small?”

Dean laughed. _Small? How did you start small with something like this?_

“Alright, small. Start small. Well, let's start with this one,” Dean turned to Sam. “Two types of Familiars. Turned and True-Born.”

“Good. Starting small.” Sam nodded calmly. It seemed easy enough. Tanner knew a lot about the culture of Familiars, he’d clearly shared it. Sam came at it from a very clinical view. “Any differences between the two?”

“No, just different ways we’re... cursed I guess. One born, one made. The being made happens a whole lot less, because sometimes the bite doesn’t take, and you’d need a mammal form to even bite... it's complicated.” Dean waved away the tangent that thought had brought.

“Alright, that seems easy enough... You don’t have to tell me everything tonight. I can wait.”

“I can’t,” Dean admitted.

“Alright, alright,” Sam said, reaching over and laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “How about.. One big bombshell tonight? Then we can go back to the motel, sleep it off, and talk about it in the morning?”

Dean nodded along. Relaxed as Sam’s hand stayed strong on his shoulder providing strength.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that,”

Sam waited expectantly. Dean tried to decide what to say. There were so many things to talk about. What was the most important aspect of being Familiar? The biggest, the baddest thing that if Dean was snatched up by some weirdo witch - that Sam should know?

In the end, it just kind of... came out.

“You’re my... _person_ ,”

It came out wrong, but it came out.

“... Person? I’m your... _person_?” Sam asked, there was a hint of amusement. Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, thanks Dean, but we’re also Brothers, and Hunters, and - “

“Familiars are connected by magic,” Dean started to defend himself, cutting Sam off. “To their person. You need a person with magic, or a kind of magical sensitive person to sustain a human form in a familiar. If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t be able to even **look** into being a human until I found someone who I could... bond with.”

That shut Sam up. His pulse hiked up.

“Bond? I... I have magic?”

“A _sensitivity_.” Dean stressed.

Sam corrected himself. “A Sensitivity.”

Dean wearily explained. “Magic... it’s got a feel to it. In your case, it doesn’t feel like full on magic, but then again, I don’t think you’ve been **doing** any real magic that it would stick to you - ”

Sam cut him off.

“What, wait? You can _feel_ magic, too?”

“Yes, I can _feel_ magic.”

“How does - wait - what does it feel like? Can you sense evil?”

Dean tried to shut him down as quickly as possible. “No, it's probably nothing like you imagine it feels. It’s kind of like an electric shock, usually when I touch someone who has used magic, is when I can feel it. And no,” He gave Sam a look. “I can’t sense **evil**. At least... I don’t think I can.”

“Dean!” Sam hissed, his eyes blown wide as he stared in shock at Dean. “Holy shit, Dean.”

“Bombshell, remember?” Dean said, as Sam flopped back on his side of the car.

“Geesh, next time warn a guy if it’s going to be more hiroshima than nuclear testing.”

Dean didn’t really get that reference but he felt like the fact that Sam was trying to joke was better than nothing. Even if he was confused, it seemed like he wasn’t about to explode, which was a good sign.

“Okay, I asked. Thanks for... uh, answering.” Sam said, stuttering as he ran a hand through his hair. “Can we - ugh - can we do back to the motel now?”

Dean was more than happy to comply.

When they returned back to the room, Sam was quiet. Dean knew he would be, he had a lot to go over in his own head, but still... It made Dean uncomfortable is all. Not knowing where he stood with Sam. He had faith that Sam would tell him in the morning, probably stay up well into the night trying to get his head together, but it wasn’t enough.

Dean knew this changed things. The truth usually did.

* * *

Dean is up first and getting ready by the time Sam even cracks an eye open. It almost makes Dean smile, because that means that Sam stayed up all night just bouncing around ideas in that big head of his. Almost, because Dean still has to explain... everything else.

Sam finally manages to look somewhat human by the time Dean gets back with coffee, bagels, and add-ons.

“What time is it?” Sam asked, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“‘Bout twenty after eight. Coffee?”

Sam nodded, taking the coffee from Dean’s hands.

There was silence. Dean thought it was comfortable. He knew it was about to be broken into a billion tiny pieces though, so, anything was comfortable comparatively. Sam drank his coffee, ate his bagel, and then went off to shower, leaving Dean to sit and stew by himself. Dean spent it going through local news.

“So I’ve got magic,” Sam started as soon as he came out of the shower with a towel around his waist.

“Yes and no,” Dean confirmed and denied, lounging on the bed.

Sam stopped as he was reaching for clothes. “Well. Which is it?”

“It’s not that simple, Sam,” Dean rolled his eyes. “As far as I understand it, just because someone has magic, doesn’t mean they have to act on it. It just means they don’t have to use... demons or whatever to get their power. I don’t know, I did that digging on my own. Tanner didn’t say anything about that.”

Sam was staring at him.

“So I have magic... and I could use it?”

“I don’t know,” Dean frowned. “All I know is that Tanner said Witches were the only one’s we ‘bond’ with, but that we need someone with a hint of magic to keep us tethered to humanity.”

“So I could use the magic I have?” Sam asked, again, he’d gotten all the way dressed and was now sitting on the bed across from Dean.

“Well, yeah, but then you’d be a Witch.”

Sam frowned deeply.

“Ok, I’ve got magic, that magic is keeping you human - “

“Not keeping me human,” Dean interrupted. “Gives me the ability to **switch** between forms. But I need to be near you, connected to you, to charge my battery... I think that’s the true curse part to everything. If I was just a shapeshifter, it wouldn’t be so bad... but I have to have someone or else I can kiss humanity goodbye.”

“Ok.” Sam nodded that deep frown on his face. “So, wait - I’m your... powerpack?”

Dean opened his mouth to tell him no, but realized, yeah, that worked. It was how Tanner had explained it, those long months ago. It just seemed weird to say it that way. He nodded as he puffed up. Sam took that in strides. Nodding as he worked it out verbally.

“Ok. I’m your powerpack. You need to be charged. Got it.” Sam breathed, held it, before letting it out. ”Anything else you want to tell me?”

Dean pounded his fingers softly on the table top. There were a lot of things to talk about, but much of it could wait until the moment of truth, for it to happen. It dawned on Dean there was one thing that Sam would probably like to know about. Even if Dean was loath to admit it.

“One bombshell.” He reminded Sam as he took a deep breath.

“One bombshell.” Sam agreed.

“Witches.”

Tended to come up in conversations about Familiars.

“Yeah, what about **them**?” Sam asked, confused.

“Apparently... consent between Witch and Familiar for a Bond is...” Dean’s teeth clenched. “ _Optional_.”

Sam had been pretty easy going throughout the information dump, but now, he was all tensed up. His shoulders a block of solid muscle. He stared at Dean with his mouth open wide, in shock. His heartbeat was off the charts. There was a smell to him, too, that Dean wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“Now wait a minute Dean,” Sam exclaimed, standing abruptly. “Magic, fine, I get that, kind of had to of known, I guess - but Dean, you told us that **you** pick the Witch. Dad told us!”

“I wasn’t lying. I do get to pick. If I ever do,” Dean let out a shaky breath and made sure to add quickly at Sam’s face, “Which I won’t,”

“You just said - “

“It won’t **happen** to me.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair and threw his hands in the air.

“ _What_ won’t happen to you?”

Dean’s jaw was clenched tightly shut.

“It’s my choice... But,” Dean didn’t want to say this, he didn’t. He looked away as he said. “Sometimes, powerful Witches can force a bond.”

“‘Can force a’ - “ Sam looked absolutely flabbergasted. He spluttered, getting up to pace back and forth. “How is that any different than you _not_ having a choice, Dean!”

“The Witch has to be powerful.” Dean tried to sooth Sam. “And I mean... very, very powerful. Merlin level.”

“Merlin?”

Sam seemed calmer, but that could mean a variety of things: Too angry to show it, spitting mad but face stone cold, too emotional to be emotional. He was still standing, hands on his hips now, and staring at Dean, but he wasn’t shaking-mad.

“Yes, Merlin-level.” Dean confirmed. “I don’t know how it works, I don’t know _why_ it does either, all I know is that Tanner told me a few stories that have been passed down in the familiar community. Myths and legends.”

“You believe him, though, don’t you?”

“We hunt myths and legends,” Dean said with an eyebrow raise, then he leaned back, unsettled himself over the facts. “It felt... right. Horribly, right.”

“And you’re just going to believe your gut?”

“... In these cases, these past few months, it hasn’t been wrong.”

It was silent for the first time a while. Their conversation had gone on for some time, what coffee they had was cold.

Sam crossed his arms and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Anything **else**?”

Dean shrugged.

“Probably, but nothing I can think of.”

Sam sat on the bed and stared at the floor for a long while, before getting up with a sigh.

“Let's get on the road. I... I gotta think about this. It’s,” Sam shook his head. “It’s a lot.”

It was. Dean acknowledged, grabbing his bags and heading out to the car to pack up. It was easier that way. He’d talked a lot, after all, so just shutting up and getting the car ready was definitely A-OK with him.

“Shutting up now,” Dean said as he opened the trunk.

* * *

Dean’s never been completely sure of anything except two things: Family came first, and shoot the monster before it killed you, because it would always take the killshot. It’s what makes it so easy for him to follow his father's orders, to keep his head down and his gun loaded, to ask only the questions to answers he can handle, because he used to ask questions and only received a grunt of reply from his father. He wasn’t like Sam. He didn’t ask questions because they needed to be asked, he ignored them because they needed to be ignored. He stuck with the easy things.

_What attacked you?_

_Did it leave behind a weird smell? Did you hear anything?_

_Has your boyfriend or girlfriend been acting different, lately? Do you fear for you safety?_

_Did you see anything suspicious? Green? Blue?... Orange?_

_Of course, I believe you._

It’s the other questions he never asks that Dean finds himself wondering now.

Like:

**_Who’s the monster? Them... or me?_ **

It used to be so easy. If they killed a person, they were evil, they deserved to die, and Dean and his family and other hunters wiped them off the map as easily as hitting the windshield wipers on a bunch of insects. There was no time for second chances. No time for questions before the shooting.

You shot or you were dead.

You kill the monsters so that more humans were not injured.

Now... now as a Familiar Dean is not so sure of anything anymore. Now, letting vegetarian vamps go, he’s lost.

He’s a beast. He has claws, and fangs, and bad breath - all a sin to the old-Dean. All enough to find guilty of being a monster. Yet, he is controlled. If not by his father, than his brother, than Bobby - than himself. He had a network. He had support...

How many of those monsters had they killed had a support system? Who stopped them from being monsters?

Sure, Dean knew that a few of them were absolutely, irrefutably evil. The child eaters, the ones who murdered without a second thought, but then it all went **gray**. The ones with no control, who were human in the day but beasts at night. The humans who were coerced into obeying. The humans who were new-freshly turned baby vampires who only had to look forward to his blade in their throats, because they didn’t have a choice anymore.

They were monsters. They’d never killed, sure, but they would.

They would...

Would he?

 _Hmph_ . Dean thought to himself, as he looked at Sam, asleep in the passenger seat. _Hadn’t he already?_


	4. This Ain't a Monster Mash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam convinces a reluctant Dean to go and visit Mom's cemetery.  
> There, they find some truly undead stupidity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am updating within a week of my last update cause of some great comments. (you know who you are wolfie) :) Please understand this is an outlier and not the rule. Wish though I could just write this whole season out, but I have to do homework and job and blah.  
> Oh well. Hope you enjoy Dean kicking ass as a dog and as a person!

They arrived at the edge of the cemetery where their mother is ‘buried’ on a sunny day not too long after they let those four Vampires go. 

Dean doesn’t want to go, but Sam does. 

And Sam is still dealing with everything that Dean dumped on him, so Dean feels a little like he deserves it.

So they go. 

It’s how things seem to be now. Sam leading, Dean following. It makes Dean squirm at how  **comfortable** he feels with this kind of deal, but he promises himself it wouldn’t be forever. Once Dean gets a handle on everything with the curse, that will change. He knows it will. He’s a leader, not a follower, but he’s letting Sam take the lead on these cases because its... well, it's smart. And Dean rarely does the smart thing.

But fear of the consequences of his actions, his actions as a beast,  _ that _ kept him on the straight and narrow.

“This is stupid,” Dean still says, knowing that it won’t change anything.

“So you’ve said,” Sam scoffed. “Like, twenty times.”

“And I’ll say it again, this is stupid.”

Dean enunciated clearly.

“Why?” Sam asked, “Why is it stupid?”

“Mom's grave? Seriously, Sam?” Dean scoffed but dutifully drove. “She doesn't even  **have** a grave -- there, there was no body left after the fire!”

Sam was a silent for a moment after that before replying sullenly, “She  **has** a headstone.”

“And? Still a slab of granite put up by a stranger!” 

A strange uncle they had never met before. Who Dean still had no  _ desire _ to meet, either.

“That’s not the point, Dean.”

“Then what is?” Dean snipped, making an aggravated hand motion. “Enlighten me.”

“It's not about a body, or, or, a casket. It's about her memory, okay?”

Dean could smell that Sam was actually a little upset by his nonchalance with the whole thing, so he kept his mouth shut. He hmm’ed, to show he had heard, but didn’t respond otherwise.

Sam didn’t let up.

“Just, listen Dean, after Dad... it feels like the right thing to do.” 

_ Feels like the right thing to do.  _ Dean felt something within him snarl. He so hated that sentence. Hated that Sam used it so often as of late. Dean didn’t get it. It was all sorts of irrational, but hey - what did he know about rational? He sniffed people, he transformed into a dog, he let a bunch of Vampires go when he should have  **stabbed and beheaded** them. Hell, at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if an angel came down from heaven and slapped him.

... Alright, fine  _ that _ would surprise him. Momentarily. He’d roll with the punches on that one.

“You don’t have to come.” Sam reminded Dean. 

“I just don’t think it's the best use of our time,” Dean admitted. “We haven’t heard anything on the demon lately...”

“And we can’t do anything about that until Ash lets us know what he finds.”

**Damnit** . Sam was right.

Dean’s fingers tapped a beat on the wheel. He could just leave Sam at the cemetery. Everything inside of him did not appreciate that thought, but it was a thought. Plus, Sam was an adult. He could... he could defend himself. He  **wasn’t** a kid anymore.

So why was the very thought of leaving Sam for any amount of time painful for him to contemplate?

Fine. Alright so that option was out due to random familiar  **‘feelings’** . 

“Just... don’t be long.” Dean finally conceded. 

He may have told Sam about their not-witch-bond, the whole consent issue, and that he was his  _ person _ , but Sam was still in the dark on what the hell that even meant. He didn’t know how Dean felt, didn’t have any idea about how close that worked together with their ‘bond’ not bond. 

* * *

Sam was over by the headstone, kneeling and digging. The jingling in his pocket was their father's dog tags.

Dean snorted in his doggy form, unwilling to go anywhere near the ‘final resting place’ of his mother. What a load of hoo-ey. There hadn’t been anything left of their mother to bury. It was just an illusion. Shaking his head, Dean trotted off to explore. He didn’t need to be around Sam when he was mopey, and as long as he could hear his heartbeat, Dean wasn’t too worried.

That was why he could wander. Just... not far.

He was going east when the wind changed and something subtle tickled his nose.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

_ :What was that? _ : Dean ask himself as he sniffed deeply, but the wind had changed again. He followed the direction the wind had come from. North. North East. As he started walking he kept his nose ready. All he smelled at the moment was mud, leaves, natural dead things.

The wind turned slightly again and this time the smell  **stuck** .

It was a sickly sweet dead smell. Like rotten apples sitting on the ground too long. Yet there was an under-smell to it that Dean couldn't pinpoint. He had never smelled anything like it. It smelled a touch like magic, like that spark of electricity, but it was too heavy, too... long standing. It  _ echoed  _ instead of  **zapped** .

He saw a symptom of the smell as he neared a giant tree. 

Dean had smelled a number of things. Dead people, alive people, mold, blood, sweat, tears, pheromones... This was a new one. It was... it was pleasant to Dean’s dog brain, but he knew it shouldn’t be. Pleasant to dog brain meant weak, easy prey, or easy to hunt. 

Which meant - what? The tree was... weak?

Dean realized as he came closer, looked at the dead leaves, the trees cracking bark, that the tree was weak. Sick. Coming closer, he made sure to remember this scent. Later he would try and remember smelling any people with this scent. It would be a useful skill to have, smelling out sick people. Hurt people. 

As he was sniffing, he realized something else was wrong with the tree. Checking the area, Dean transformed, he fingered his collar as he walked - a nervous habit. He walked around the tree, felt the bark, sniffed higher up on the tree, and then knocked.

_ Huh _ . 

It was hollow. A big tree like this... hollow? It would have had to been sick for a while. As he walked around the tree, he saw something by the graves that caught his eye. Two or three meters in diameter there was a giant dead patch of grass over one of the graves. 

Thoroughly bamboozled Dean transformed again. The smell of the grass matched the tree, a little different, smaller but more of a punch because of the diameter. Both the tree and the grass were being ail’d by the same thing. 

As a human, Dean would have assumed demonic presence immediately. Perhaps spirit, but definitely  _ wrong _ . If something evil happened there, it could easily poison the ground. Dean remembered the farm outside of Cedar Rapids. That scene had not been pretty, nor had the monster that had come from that hell hole. 

Based on this evidence... well, he needed to ask some questions.

_ :I’ll be back, Sam, _ : Dean told his brother, and transformed, making sure to stuff his collar into his coat pocket before he met with any impressionable humans.

“What was that about?” Sam asked as Dean finished talking with the groundskeeper.

“I go where my nose goes,” Dean said, as he read over the card. “Angela Mason. She was a student at the local college; funeral was three days ago. “

“Your nose lead you to... the grave a of a dead girl?”

“Yup,” Dean sid cheerfully. The thrill of the hunt in his bones, in his  _ veins _ . His blood was singing! “I found a dead tree and and a circle of dead grass in a perfect circle,” Sam raised a brow. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

It wasn’t a far walk. 

“That’s... that’s a pretty perfect circle.” Sam said, as he crouched to look at the grave. “Angela mason, huh? You sure it’s not pesticides?”

“Nope,” Dean said with a smile. “The groundskeeper said they’re o’ naturale here. They’re pretty big on that.”

No clue why, the people were already dead.

“Alright, I see it,” Sam nodded. “What are you thinking?”

“Unholy ground?”

It was his first thought and though Dean had never smelled it before, it matched.

“What did your nose have to say about that?” Sam asked, getting up from his crouched position, stuffing his hands in his pocket. 

“The ground, the air, the tree, the grass... it’s sick. I’ve never smelled sick before. Not like this, anyway. It’s like the sickness is more than just  _ natural _ .”

Sam shook his head, scoffing as he looked to the tree. He looked between the dead grass, the tree, and Dean. “Only  **you** would find a hunt.  **Here** of all places.”

Dean laughed. 

It was a light sound because this had to be the best turn around to a horrible day! With a smile, he thought to himself, : _ Thanks, Mom!: _

* * *

: _ People don’t question a dog with a collar, Sam, _ : Dean said, as he walked steady next to Sam. : _ They’re like a man with a mission.: _

“That’s honestly not the strangest thing you’ve said to me this month,” Sam sighed as he walked up the driveway. He was here to question Angela’s father. They thought about doing it at the university, where he worked, but there wouldn’t be any evidence of his shortcomings there. At least not...  _ witchy _ . Dean was going to be snooping in the surrounding area of any other ‘unholy’ smells. “But it  **is** the most random. Where did that come from?”

: _... I really hate wearing the collar is all _ .: Dean said shaking his neck. The collar jingling deceptively cute.

“So you’re trying to convince yourself that it’s not a big deal, huh?” Sam scoffed. 

: _ Yeah, I guess _ ...  _ Would you just go in there? I’ll be out here. Doing my thing.: _

“Got it, got it,” Sam muttered as he knocked on Doctor Mason’s door. Dean was long gone by the time the man opened the door.

“Hello, can I help you?”

Dean didn’t stick around to listen to the rest of it, he had his nose to follow.

While Sam is distracting and talking with the father, Dean sniffed around the property. There was a garden in the back yard, filled with all sorts of autumn flowers, but it didn’t smell off. Dean still wasn’t sure about what that was, but it just didn’t feel off. In fact, it all smelled relatively normal. The trees were healthy, the bushes comparatively alright, a few things were dying - but that was just the smell of new growth. A tangy, earth scent.

He hears Sam asking about a book on the guys shelf. Something to do with Latin? Greek? That is definitely a clue, a link, but Dean ignores it for now. Sam will let him know if he needs to worry about anything, or if he needs help. Same as Dean will let him know.

_ Wait. _

Pulling up short, Dean sniffed deep. There. 

**What was that?**

With the tree and the grass at the graveyard, there had been a strong presence of sickness, but here it was as faint as a drop of blood in the ocean. Like it lingered, but only barely. A hint of something rather than a punch to the face. Dean sneezed, and with it, the scent disappeared.

: _ It’s faint, but it’s here... _ : Dean tells Sam, and knowing he can’t respond back, he continued. : _ Its really, really faint... I think - hmm, I think it visited here? If it could visit? Whatever it was, but it didn’t stay. This isn’t the source.: _

There was no outward reaction from his brother, but Dean knew their inner communication worked just fine. Sam wrapped it up with the old guy and they both met back at the car. Dean was already there by the time Sam exited the house, and human.

“Anything on your end?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head.

“The man is just a grieving father. He teaches a class on ancient Greek... that was about it.”

Dean clicked his tongue and frowned. “I don’t think he’s our guy. If he was messing around with any kind of dark joo-joo, I’d know. It would... it would stink the place up.”

Sam frowned right back. “Well. I guess next on the list would be Angela’s ex-roommate.”

* * *

With Dean’s ‘new’ nose and ears, hunts were easier than ever. They still had to eat and shower, and be human, but that didn’t mean much. Where before, they had to rely on first hand accounts, and stolen police reports, and the general belief that what they hunted were fake or fictional; now it was as easy as Dean finding where the scent originated and then hunting them down.  Where before it took a week, a month, or more, now it took hours, or a week tops.

In the past month, they’d already salted and burned a body, two family heirlooms, chased away a rugaru from a small town into the woods to kill, and excised a small time god. Sam knew for a fact they would still be on the rugaru if it wasn’t for Dean. Research was the only thing that kept them grounded sometimes. Sam was grateful for Dean’s gifts, for his curse.

He was also painfully worried.

When Dean had dropped the bombshell of him having magic, fine, sure, that was a lot, Sam was still reeling about it, but that made sense. Then he had gone and told him that  **consent for the bond was optional** . The one thing Sam was sure about, and what had let him sleep pretty when he did sleep, was that Dean was pretty safe from Witches. No Witch was going to come and snatch him up. Yes, their life was fraught with danger, but Sam  **knew** Dean could deal with that.

Could deal with.  _ Could _ , being the keyword. 

Now there was a possibility that Dean could be taken from him any minute... Without any word edgewise, Sam would be alone.

Not to mention Dean would basically be a  _ slave _ to some Witch. It was enough to make him want to punch somebody. He felt so... helpless. And Dean... well, Dean would have been even more helpless. Add onto the fact that they knew next to nothing about familiars?

It was a mess. A giant mess. Worse, Sam didn’t know who to turn to. Not that he had ever had many people to turn to...

Dad had been absent as soon as Sam had gone to college. Bobby was always there, but was he who Sam wanted to share with? Could he be trusted? Ellen and Bobby both knew of Dean’s new status, but if they knew about such a loose end - how would they react? Bobby was a Hunter, even if he was their friend.

It was a rock and a hard place.

Sam glanced over at Dean, who was asleep in the seat, and tried not to let his worry taint their winning streak. 

His brother wasn’t a weak person. He was the strongest person Sam knew. But this wasn’t something that Dean could fight, it was just something he had to live with, to survive, and it was up to Sam to protect him from the worst of it. Which he was never, ever going to let Dean know. 

Ever.

His hand clenched on the steering wheel as he tried to remember that grounding feeling he had felt, putting dads dogtags with mother gravestone. It had settled him, for a short moment, before Dean had upended them, again.

“It doesn’t fit a vengeful spirit,” Sam said as they drove over to the house their victim and her roommate lived in. “Or demonic possession. This is something else. You think we can safely bet it’s a witch?”

_ :I would. Based on smell alone, anyway.: _ Dean stated confidently. : _ I mean, listen Sam, spirits smell like nothing mixed with... I don’t know how to describe it. Demons smell like sulpher. I’m not getting a hint of  _ **_any_ ** _ of that here. This is something else... something we haven’t encountered before. At least not this nose,: _

“Great,” Sam said, flatly, as he pulled up to the house. “Just what we needed.”

Both Sam and Dean decide to go in. The door was open already, not locked, which wasn’t the smartest... When they stepped through the door Dean realized he had made a mistake. He caught the beat of a heart off the corner of his senses, lighter, calmer than Sam’s. It had been hidden because Dean hadn’t been paying attention. 

Shit. They’re not alone. Shit shit shit.

This is a first for him. He’d been a bit careless with his new senses and hadn’t been paying attention and he has missed a heartbeat.

Thinking fast, Dean grabbed a box and started placing a random assortment of stuff in it. Sam gave him a look but grabbed a picture frame himself. If the roommate came out and screamed, they could claim that they were... some distant relatives coming to collect some of the more ‘personal’ effects.

Sure enough, the girl screamed when she saw them. It surprised Sam enough that he jumped at the scream, Dean just whirled around on the girl. 

Ugh. The girl was a  **loud** screamer, too. Could this day get any better?

“Wait, wait, wait!” Dean called as the woman was surprisingly quick and had already hidden back into the room she had come from. Sam looked panicked but left it to Dean.

“I’m calling 911!”

“We’re Angela’s cousins!”

The erratic beating of the heart stopped, slowed, still fast but slowing a bit. 

“What?”

Dean was quick on his toes and very quick on the uptake. He spun a story in his head just as fast as he could talk it.

“Yeah, her dad sent us to pick up pictures and stuff.” He shrugged helplessly at Sam. “Personal effects, so that he didn’t have to look at things... too soon you know?”

“... Angela’s dad never said anything about you.”

“Well, I mean,” Dean did some quick thinking and pulled out a set of keys he had in his pocket. He was pretty sure he had swiped them off some hunt awhile ago, but they served a purpose. Noise distraction and now decoy keys. “How else would I have the key to your place?”

She bought it, hook line and sinker. Relaxed, just enough to burst into tears, she opened the doors.

* * *

“Sorry to startle you like that,” Sam apologized, and coming from him the girl bought it.

“It’s okay, it’s just been, really hard since,” The girl couldn’t quit tearing up and sniffling. “Since Ang died.”

Dean was intensely uncomfortably and awkwardly held out a kleenex box. The girl, Lindsey, took a tissue and blew hard against her sniffles. The sound was disgusting this up close and Dean was immensely grateful that Sam had been born a boy, not a girl, and wasn’t a sissy. He might have gone crazy had he had to deal with this for twenty some years in motel rooms, and cars, and everywhere else.

“So.” Dean tried to awkwardly situate between the crying and their purpose. “I'm sure you got a, a view of Angela that none of the family got to see.” He smiled at her reassuringly as she looked to him. She returned it watery. 

“Tell me, what, what was she like? I mean, what was she  **really** like?”

Those big eyes of Lindsey were watery, but she smiled wobbly-like a baby and said, “She was great.”

Sam and Dean didn’t have to share a look, just hmm’d.

“Just great.” The girl said, nodding and folding her hands into tight little fists. “I mean, she was so... so... “

She couldn’t find the word but Dean could. It was... ridiculously easy.

“Great?”

“Yeah.” There went the lip wobble. “ _ Yeah _ .”

And she was crying. 

Dean and Sam finally shared a look. Exasperated. Freakin’ lovely.

“Here.” Dean said, offering the box again. Greedy hands took two tissues as she sobbed.

“Here you go. You, uh, you two must have been really close, huh?”

“We were.” She confirmed, trying to stifle her sniffles. “But it's not just her, it's Matt.”

“Who - who is Matt?” Sam asked, leaning forward. 

“Angelas boyfriend.” Lindsey said, staring at them as if she didn’t know who they were. Which, she didn’t, but then Dean remembered their ‘cousin’ story.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, playing his part right. “I thought she wasn’t seeing that douche-bag anymore?” 

Lindsey shook her head vehemently. “She wasn’t. She broke up with him. He was... he was cheating on her.”

“Then... why’s - “

“He killed himself a few hours ago.” She said, and the sobbing this time took on a new franticness. As she was crying she said through the tears, scandalized. “He cut his own throat. Who does  _ that _ ?”

Sam pulled back, cocking his head. Well, there went that lead... Dean tried to comfort the girl.

“That’s... that’s pretty terrible.”

“I know, right?” Lindsey sniffled and looking at Dean like he was a lifeline. Someone who  _ got it _ .“He was talking Angela's death pretty hard,” 

Dean snorted. “Really? After being caught cheating?”

Lindsey looked a little squirrely at that. “They  **were** dating. I guess... I mean, he'd been messed up about it for days.”

“Messed up?” Sam asked.

Dean asked for clarification. “Messed up how?” 

Lindsey looked a little uncertain, leaned forward as she said in a lower voice. “He kept saying that he...  **saw** her everywhere.”

Sam’s heartbeat skipped a beat. He and Dean didn’t need to communicate to know that was a sign.

“Well, I'm, I'm sure that that's normal,” Dean said, thrilled on the inside. This was something to work with. “I mean with everything that he was going through.”

Lindsey was staring at Dean again. She shook her head.

“No, he said that he SAW her.” Both brothers waited for more to that. “As in, an acid trip or something.”

“Huh. Do you... do you think maybe somebody killed Matt?”

Lindsey was absolutely scandalized. “No! Never, why would they want to - “

She shut her mouth with a click.

Dean shared a momentary glance with Sam, who was on the same wavelength as him. Bingo.

“Angela’s best friend never liked Matt.” She confided, biting a nail. “I never thought about it before, but... but if anyone would have hurt Matt. It would have been him.”

“Uh, this best friend have a name?”

“Yeah,” Lindsey nodded. “Neil.”

“Wouldn’t happen to have an address, would you?”

“Why would you want to know where Neil lives?”

“Best friend to Angela, right? Might have a few personal effects?”

“Oh, yeah, well in  **that** case.”

* * *

Afterwards in the car Dean and Sam decided on their next course of action.

“So... question Neil?”

Sam looked at his watch, “I don’t know man, it’s getting kind of late.”

“Sam, come on,” Dean told him severely. “We’ve almost got this one. We’re on the trail!”

It wasn’t often that they found and finished a hunt in a day, after all. Dean was a little excited was all. Is that a crime?

“And I think we need to go check out where Matt was murdered, see if you can smell anything.”

“And  _ I think  _ we need to go talk to this Neil dude.”

Sam chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. Dean didn’t stop.

“What if we find out that Neil did it? huh? What if whatever that smell is is connected to him?” 

“Dean! We don't even know how or what this monster is, let alone how to kill them.”

It was logical. The same kind of logic that they should have been Dean’s first thought. Instead, Dean was focused on the smell and the thrill of the hunt. On the speed, on the quickness. Sam was focused on keeping them alive. 

“... shut up Sam, and drive.”

 

* * *

Caution tape covered the door, so Sam and Dean went around. Nobody was guarding the house, since it had been ruled a suicide, both of the brothers thought that was particularly stupid of them, but hey - they weren’t in the law enforcement business. They were in the find monsters and kill them business.

There was no body, but that didn’t help with the smell. In fact, not much did. Dean covered his nose, well aware he’d already been punched with the punch-bowl of scents, but it was to stop the smells any further from overwhelming him.

“Ugh.” Sam groaned, coming around the couch to see the dark stains on the fabric. “Well, looks like here’s where he died.”

“Yeah, and he wasn’t alone.” Dean said, with a gag.

It was the same smell from the graveyard, but worse. Like. Multiplied by ten hundred times worse. It was almost completely synonymous with death, that was how sickly sweet the smell was. Death and that smell mixed to make a smell that even had  **his** stomach turning. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t at all.

The electricity of magic followed the scent around the entire room.

“What do you mean he wasn’t alone?” Sam demanded.

“Something killed him. That same thing that was in the cemetery was here. I can  _ smell _ it.”

“Probably bled out. If they ruled it a suicide, I wonder how they thought he killed himself?”

Dean didn’t walk a step closer to the couch. That was where the smell was coming from. That and Death. The blood sang to him, a song of violence, of unhappy ends. Of an unfitting end to a life that should have continued. It was the blood of the murdered. And it  **sang** \- 

With a blink as Sam broke his concentration, Dean came back to himself, realizing he’d gotten lost in his own head.

“ - You think you can track it?”

Sam had walked to the other end of the room, flashlight ghosting over the dark red stains on the couch. Dean hadn’t even heard him move, so lost within his own head he had been. The time he’d lost would have been only seconds, but he could still hear the echo of that song... a haunting not-melody.

_ What was that? _ Dean wondered, as he took a step back from the smell of the blood. The intoxicating,  **wrong** , smell of blood.

“Yeah, I can track it.” Dean told him, way past distracted.

_ But do I want to? _

* * *

Sam trusted Dean’s nose, he did, but he also wanted something concrete for himself. Call it the Hunter in him. Proof for the kill.

Call it this hunt was moving way faster than he was used to.

That was why they were here, digging up the grave of the late Angela Manson. Dean knew there was no body, and Sam trusted him, he did, but this was one of those things that they weren’t sure if the mysterious cemetery-smell was covering up the death. Dean knew it wasn’t, he’d just been inside the ‘suicide’ house of the girls ex. Death liked to be beside the smell, not covered by it.

But Sam was the human, so, Dean realized he had to do what he must to help him get the whole picture. Since he had the most ‘pure’ human instincts of the two of them, it was clear he had to be the one in charge.

Digging was hard work, too. That they worked in silence to the heaves and ho’s of each other. It was exhausting, there was little reward, and it was a literal pain in the ass to dig five foot down just to find a heaping pile of nothing. Which is exactly what they found.

The coffin was empty. Which wasn’t nearly the weird part.

It smelled fine. Like cedar, silk, and nails. Wood, cotton, and metal. There was no hint of the mysterious smell that seemed to infect the ground above it. Perhaps a bit of death, but it came from a mortuary - death  **lived** there.

“The groundskeeper said they buried her four days ago,” Dean said, with a sniff. Confused beyond his wildest dreams.

“What do you smell?”

“A coffin.”

“Cute, Dean,”

“No, I’m serious. It’s just the coffin. No death. No weird sickness smell... just a coffin.”

Sam crouched to inspect the coffin. Feeling around the inside.

“That doesn’t make sense - What’s this?” 

Crouching next to Sam, Dean saw where he was pointing. The top of the coffin had a been torn to shreds and on the coffin's lid were scratched symbols. Scoured into the wood. Dean leaned forward to sniff at them, only when he was about an inch away did he smell it, and pulled back sharply. Almost fell on his butt as he yanked himself back, but instead crashed against Sam.

“Oh God,” He groaned shaking his head and pawing at his nose. 

The smell didn’t just lingered.

It  **burned** .

“What?” Sam demanded, worry lacing every syllable. “What Dean?”

“It’s the same smell. But... very directed. Ughh,” Dean couldn’t help it, he turned around and shoved his nose directly into Sam’s throat taking a deep breath of the scent only Sam had. It was more instinct than actual thought on his part. He wanted to get away from the smell, the smell that lingered in his nose and made him nauseous. Sam smelled of books, old and new, that electric spark of magic that wasn’t tainted like this horrible smell was, and clean, normal human.

Sam stiffened.

The effect was immediately calming. The smell of Sam swept through Dean as if he’d never smelled the sick-smell before.

“You okay there, Dean?” Sam asked, his voice strained from the odd angle and position he now found himself in.

“Just a sec,” Dean breathed one last time before pulling back. “Ugh, that smell should come with some kind of warning. It’s awful. Nearly barfed. Thanks, uh, for the clean air,”

“No problem.” Sam cleared his throat, quickly changed the subject. “So the carvings are linked directly... Hey, I think I know these symbols.”

“What? Really?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, her father had some books on the subject. He said he taught a class.”

Dean could only shake his head. “He didn’t smell like the smell. Not even a little.” 

“Could he wash himself of it?”

“... No, not as far as I can tell. Not as far as my nose is concerned.”

“You never sniffed him.” Sam tried to reason. “He could  _ be _ it.”

Dean shook his head. “No. No way. There would have been... been a  _ smell _ that hung around. This smell... it doesn’t just go away. It wasn’t him,”

Breathing out, Sam tried to see things Dean’s way. It was far far easier than  “You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes.” Dean looked to Sam. “More than sure.”

“Who the hell could it be then?” Sam demanded, as he climbed out of the grave, giving Dean a hand to help him out when he was up. “The best friend? Neil?”

“I can still track the scent, I know I can, you just gotta give me some time.”

“And when we find her?” Cause Sam was pretty sure that this woman would be the monster, and somebody had turned her into it. It was just about finding the who now.

“Go to the library, research the symbols,” Dean said, “I’ll try my damndest to track the smell with my nose.”

Sam nodded, looking back to the grave. “We’ve gotta be quick. We’re on a timeline here. People will be looking for us if we don’t finish this up before first light.”

“Timeline, got it.” Dean said, pulling his collar out to place around his neck. “I’ll - 

_ :Keep you updated.: _

And off he was.

 

* * *

Dean wondered, as he tried to follow a trail of death and sickness, what this Hunt would have looked like as a human.

He wondered that a lot, actually. 

Without his sense of smell, what would he have done? He would have talked with the Father with Sam. Would he have waited to dig up the grave? Would he have asked more questions rather than being so concerned with his nose and the smell that seemed to be from hell itself? And as for his outlook on life... would his be different?

What about Sam?

He would have done a lot of things different, he decided, but so far his choices weren’t the worst.

The town wasn’t as small as some people thought, but also not as large as others probably knew. Between the library at the university that was opened all hours, Doctor Mason’s house, the ex-boyfriend's house, where Angela used to live, and the unknown address of the best friend - it was about a twenty-thirty minute track between all of the places. More if he got stuck behind traffic on the main roads, but as a dog he wasn’t doing so bad getting around.

Starting from the boyfriend's house as the most probable last place that the smell had come from based on smell alone, Dean followed through the length of the trees the strong scent of the mysterious-sickness-small. Ugh. Wasn’t that a mouthful. The smell was still as strong as ever, but as the time went on, as his tracked and tracked every turn and movement of whoever had left the smell - it seemed to make his stomach roll less.

He made it to a house they hadn’t visited before, and stopped to an immediate halt as the smell slammed into him.

It was  **the** smell. Strong, stronger than anything he’d found before. Fresh, which was a strange thing to say about a smell that liked to sleep with death. The fresh smell was slightly different too. Sick, still, but a strong sickness that bordered on being natural. It confused Dean, but it was obviously the resting place, the nest, the den, of the monster.

_ :This is the place. _ : Dean snarled to himself. He wasn’t sure if he and Sam were in range, but now that he knew...

Dean stiffened.

There was a heartbeat. One single heartbeat in the house. It took all of Dean's strength of hearing to stop thinking with his nose and start thinking with ears. There was the sound of talking, he couldn’t really hear words, except a few of them, but it was useless. The tones though... 

Dean focused.

One of them was worried, the other’s tone was completely vanilla, no actual emotion. The voices never once rose, which told Dean that they were talking in secret... which was a bit ridiculous because they had the entire house to themselves. One heartbeat after all... Since the other voice wasn’t muffled even further, that person was in the room.

So... one heartbeat. That meant that the girl hadn’t been completely reanimated, or at least, not really. There was a human in there. There was a not-human in there. A human and a monster. It made sense... someone had to steal the body, reanimate the corpse, or c all of the about.

_ :Zombies. Who knew?: _

He had the address now, so he turned and took off to the library. 

This was one monster he had no clue how to deal with and Sam would probably appreciate if he played it smart.

* * *

_ :What’cha got? _ : Dean asked after he managed to sneak into the library. He wasn’t really feeling like being a human right now, even with the perk of less smelling.

“Jesus!” Sam jumped as he looked down to where Dean was sitting, hissing at him, “Warn a guy, woulda?”

_ :Sorry. You hear I found the place?: _

Sam nodded. “Yeah. It was faint, but I heard it. Listen here, I think I found what this is - “

_ :Zombie, right?: _

“Yes,” Sam smirked, rolling his eyes. “But you already knew that, or at least, suspected it - but get this.”

Sam brought a book around for Dean to look at. The page was covered with a strange pictogram of swirls, symbols, and lines. It took Dean a second, but he got it. It matched! The page held the exact same thing that was on the top of the coffin lid.

_ :That’s it.: _ Dean wanted to smile.  _ :Did you translate?: _

“You’ve only been gone like...” He looked at his watch. “Forty minutes. Gimme some time.”

_ :Do you have  _ **_anything_ ** _?: _

“Yeah, a little, here,” Sam dropped the paper on the ground next to Dean's paws. “It's only bits and pieces but I’m getting there.”

It was a little muggy, but Dean could make out what Sam had. It was ritualistic. Carved, not written, to change inside rather than something on the surface. The color of the wood also mattered, Dean read. Some of the symbols, Sam had figured out the meanings of, or they were guesses at best. It was impressive for only probably five or ten minutes of work.

What Dean could understand confused him briefly. How did Sam not understand the bits he’d translated?

_ :It seems pretty clearly zombie, bringing back the dead. What more are you translating? _ :

“More stories. Not just this one. Trying to find a way to... kill it.” Sam explained but he was distracted.

_ :Want help?: _

“Help would always be appreciated,” Sam said, but didn’t look up from his work.

_ :Be back then.: _

Dean tracked his steps back just far enough outside that he was pretty sure there weren’t any cameras. Then looking for people, he was human in a few seconds. Back at the desk helping Sam in minutes.  It took them a few hours, but then after that it just got repetitive. They found nothing new after one in the morning. They called it after two.

“So we got silver... and we gotta return her to her grave?” Dean went over their notes on how to kill a Zombie. The how was more interesting to Sam and that showed in his brother’s notes. Dean only cared about how to kill it. He’d already tracked it, killing was the next step.

“Good thing we didn’t fill it up, huh?” Sam scoffed, stretching. “Uh, this is going to be a bitch.”

“You can say that again,” Dean said, packing up their notes and getting up to put the books on a cart. He made sure to split them between carts, so it didn’t look too weird. One book went by the bees. Another went to the cart full of anatomy books. 

“Well.” Sam said, behind him as he grabbed his bag. “This is going to be a long morning.”

* * *

Sam and Dean did not go into a fight without proper planning or experience. For simple salt and burns, they barely hesitated, but anything bigger and they made sure they knew what they were doing. _This_ , what they were doing, was a lot less sure than they usually were. And yes, they both were aware they had research to back up their claims, and Dean’s nose to backup the victim, and a place to have a final showdown; but.

Well. Relatively. They had to somehow get the dead-girl back to her coffin if the silver didn’t work. Which, well, they had a working plan for that, but it was heavy dependent on the kid in question. 

And the zombie....

And how fast they could run, which is why they stopped for a burger. 

* * *

Dean leaned back in the chair, only one foot on the ground as he balanced precariously. Head thrown back, he was thinking. His burger long since eaten, digesting somewhere in his stomach with three handfuls of fries, his mind a million miles away.

Sam was reading something on his phone, and was not sharing with the class. As usual.

What was unusual, was how deeply Dean was lost in his own thoughts.

“You’re never to bring me back,” Dean finally said, abruptly. “Got it?”

Sam blinked. Eyes jumping off his screen and onto Dean’s face that was pointed up towards the ceiling. The serious frown that Sam was seeing on Dean more and more often making an appearance. This... this needed to be talked out. He put down his phone and crossed his own arms, watching Dean.

“No bringing you back from the dead... got it,” Sam agreed. “Any reason you felt you needed to stress that right now?”

“Zombies, Sammy,” Dean snorted, giving him the stink eye. “Just... god damn stupid kids bringing fucking zombies into the world. As if there wasn’t enough supernatural crap to deal with... now we gotta deal with the undead?” He shook his head. “Just... so stupid.”

Sam cocked his head. There was something more going on with Dean. He didn’t often rant, but when he did... Sam decided, playing the devil's advocate wasn’t the worst thing he could do.

“His best friend just died, he was alone and hurting,” Sam said. Defended. “He wasn’t thinking clearly through the grief. I mean, can you blame him for wanting to do something about it?”

“You trying to tell me something, Sammy?”

Sam shook his head.

“I already said I wouldn’t bring you back - “ Privately, he added, ‘ _ not like that anyway _ ’. “What’s really going on?”

Dean’s hands flexed on the table, before he pulled them back and crossed them defensively over his chest. He didn’t answer for a long moment, eyes glued to the ceiling. It took him a long moment to finally tear his gaze away.

“It’d be so fucking easy, wouldn't it?” Dean whispered.

Sam frowned, waiting this out.

“We know a lot of shit, Sam, like...” He ran a hand down his face. “A lot of shit. If we thought it through enough, we could figure it out - couldn’t we? We wouldn’t mess up and bring each other back as zombies... We’d actually succeeded and - I - “ He gave a frustrated sort of growl. Nearly animal. “I just realized, is all. How much we know. How easy it’d be, to do it right...”

For a long moment, Sam felt as if someone had just dragged the carpet out from under him.

“I - “ Sam stuttered, completely caught off guard. “That’s not gonna happen,”

Dean snorted. “Oh yeah? You know that, do you?”

“I do,” Sam said, firmly. 

And he, of course, forgot about that little fact of Dean knowing when he was lying.

“Got it, Sammy,” Dean shook his head, pushing his chair back and grabbing his takeout bag. “Forget it. Let’s get this over with,” He pushed off the table and got up on his feet. “Come on, let's go,”

Sam felt uncomfortable, but Dean was already halfway to the door.

The conversation was done. For now.

* * *

“Talk first.” Sam warned Dean. “Maybe we can get the kid to... come clean or something? Reverse the spell he used?”

Dean had a mouth full of fries but he gave Sam a baleful look. Really? Sam may be the smarter one, but he was also the one with a whole lot more mercy to give than Dean. The eldest brother had to roll his eyes. What was this? They let four vampires go and suddenly, they are were good samaritans to the monster community? Dean scoffed to himself. rediculous

“Okay, alright, fine, you’re right, when has that ever worked for us?” Sam blew out a breath. “Okay, then we’ll just go in there hoping we can talk him down but expecting a fight.”

“That’s what we always do.”

And it was exactly what they did do.

“Do you smell her?”

Dean gave him a look. They were on the doorstep.

“Of course,” He stated slowly, like talking to an idiot. “But I don’t know if she’s  **here** .”

Sam gave him a quizzical expression, and Dean knew he had to explain.

“Its like someone drenched the place in o’de’monster, which means I can smell it, but I can’t  _ hear  _ it,”

“Ah,” Sam said, and then knocked on the door. Hopefully they would get lucky and the zombie wouldn’t be at the house.

A second passed, then the door opened. 

“Hello, can I help you?”

Neil was a small kid, but then again, the brothers were both well over six foot. It was the oddest feeling, but Dean had the strangest almost supernatural  _ need  _ to punch the kid out. It wasn’t a want, in fact, if he had less self control, he would have followed through. Probably just one of those instincts.

“Neil Baker?” Sam asked semi-politely, disinterested. 

Brow furrowing, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would be looking for him, Neil opened the door slightly wider. “Yeah, that’s me. Is there something you need?”

Sam opened his mouth to begin asking question in a well paced manner - Dean couldn’t stand by and let that happen.

“Why did you bring Angela Manson back from the dead?”

_ Ahhh _ , Dean breathed in deeply,  _ the sweet smell of terror.  _

The kid reeked within seconds, his heart tripped over itself, he swallowed convulsively, eyes opening a fraction too wide. The entire time, Dean didn’t look away once. Locked in a staring match, Dean didn’t even pay attention to Sam. How could he? His prey was right in front of him. And what prey the kid was...

Never had Dean felt so utterly like a predator before. 

“I - what?” Neil spluttered once he got a hold of himself. He laughed nervously. “Ang is dead, a car crash, a few days ago -  Why would you think I -“

“That’s not what I asked,” Dean was calm, perfectly synchronously calm. In a way, he’d never been this calm. Never. It was all...  _ instinct _ . His senses flared as the human's heart rate skyrocketed. It was clear he understood that he was in the presence of something otherworldly. “Now, answer the question, why did you bring Angela back from the dead?”

“Dude, are you high or something?” Neil demanded as strongly as he could, but it came out shaky. “You can’t - You can’t bring back the dead.”

“ _ Dean _ ,” Sam said, but Dean didn’t even look at him. “What are you doing?”

It was easy to ignore him. Impossibly easy.

“Neil,  _ buddy _ , I’m not going to ask you again.” 

The kid swallowed and shut the door a little tighter against his body. 

“Who the fuck are you people?”

“You obviously brought her back,” Dean continued, nonchalant. He’d never felt so in his element. “You denying it was kind of how we imagined this to go down. Now. How did you do it?” 

Dean didn’t wait for an answer, he answered for the kid.

“I don’t actually care.” 

Dean took a step forward and held the door open with one hand, surprising the human. Neil skittered back, and then Dean was inside his house. The smell was overwhelming inside. Much fresher, much easier on the nose, but not so much on his stomach. She was inside. She was right... here.

She was in the house. 

Just around the corner.  _ Near _ , if Dean’s senses had anything to say about it. Within her range, there was more off about her than he had known before. This close... she smelled rotten. Truly rotten. Festering meat. Bloody. Electric too. Like someone was burning the meat with an iron, but without the smoke or the burning. This close, Dean knew it was the work of magic. The harshness of it hit him. A switch flipped in his mind. Something changed.

The Familiar wanted to tear her apart, to rend flesh from bone from flesh, but he knew that the grave was where they needed to steer her. To tear something apart was one thing, but to kill it was another. The two trains of thoughts, Hunter and Familiar, found for purchase in his head.

Hunter won.

This zombie, this dead-girl, deserved death. Deserved rest.

It all clicked in his mind like a puzzle he had never wanted to solve. It was like someone had slapped some clay in front of him and he had made a masterpiece. Dean had never been artistic in his life, but suddenly he found that the end was going to be much more enjoyable than the trip. So, so much more enjoyable.

“Why’d you do it?”

Neil’s lips were quivering. 

“Guess what? Care even less about the why.” Dean asked and answered in one breath. 

Neil’s heartbeat was completely off kilter. There was no rhythm or reason to it. It was pathetic and weak and stuttering. Dean decided to put him out of his misery.

“You brought a dead girl back to life,” Dean’s voice took on a new quality to it. Hypnotic. He didn’t know it, but Sam could only gape as Dean did a one eighty. “At first, it was great. She was alive, not dead. Real, right in front of you. Right? She finally appreciates the real you, not that scumbag Matt.” He scoffed, getting into the theater of it all. “And she promises she didn’t kill him, but you know better than that. You know what she is.”

The kid quivered in front of Dean. Dean’s voice had dipped well below seductive and more... smooth. Calm. Like talking someone down from jumping, yet with an edge. Sam couldn’t even pull his thoughts together to even intervene, especially since Dean seemed to have a plan. A wild, crazy, completely bat-shit plan, but a plan nonetheless. 

He owed it to Dean to listen.

“What  **we,** ” Dean motioned to Sam and he. **“** Would like to  **let** you know, is that there is only one way to kill her.”

Neil opened his mouth, Dean help up a hand.

“No. Listen.” Dean stressed. “You brought her back, maybe cause you love her, maybe because you think you’ll be broken without her, maybe because you think she deserves another chance,” Neil was entranced, he didn’t move. “I  **don’t** care. I am just letting you know, we’ll take care of it. She was dead, and she will be dead again before this day is over.”

Before first light, Dean wanted to say, but that was showing his hand. Showing his hand to the zombie that was listening.

“I don’t. Know. What. You’re. Talking. About.” Neil said, firmly, seeming to have come back to himself. 

It was a lie. Neil knew it was a lie. Dean knew it was a lie.  **But** , and here was the important part, Dean was pretty sure Neil knew that Dean knew it was a lie. They could only hope the zombie was too dumb to figure it out as well. Good. Maybe the kid was smarter than Dean had been led to think... considering he was in college, Dean didn’t know what that said about the education system.

“It will take us three hours. Minimum. Bring your girlfriend to the cemetery in a few hours. We’ll take care of your problem for you.”

Then he turned and he walked away.

Easy as that. The spell he had over the kid broken.

“Dean!” Sam called to him, but Dean kept up a brutal pace to get away from the door. Away from Neil. Away from Angela. Sam needed to know what had happened back there, but not where the zombie could hear them.

“Dean, stop!”

The need to  **_stop_ ** swept through him, but Dean didn’t stop an inch. Not until he was in the car. In the driver seat. Then he flopped, shoved the keys in the ignition, and waited for Sam to hop in.

“Get in. We’ve got a zombie to kill.”

“Dean,” Sam exclaimed, but hopped in the passenger seat dutifully. Dean was off before he had fully closed his door. “What was that about?”

“Plan changed.”

“Yes,” Sam said in his no duh voice. “But  **what** specifically happened to channel the change?”

“... The smell. She smelled... “ Dean’s lip pulled up into a snarl as he tried to describe it. “Smug. Wrong. Rotten. Like magic. She was near... she was  _ right  _ around the corner, probably in a closet or something. She didn’t have a heartbeat, so I couldn’t go off that, but... but what I could feel - it just took over. I knew what I needed to do.”

“And that was?” Sam demanded, still trying to go over everything that had happened in that entrance way.

“The human had brought her back, but they are not tethered together.” Dean didn’t know how else to explain it. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if he was in control of his mouth. “They  **should** be tethered together, something must have gone wrong with the ritual... Something went wrong with the magic he used... She’s going to kill him if we don’t manage to get her into her grave.”

Sam was still digesting that Dean had used the word ‘human’ to describe a kid, before he caught up to the last thing Dean had said. He still didn’t quite understand the whole plan, or how Dean had gotten to certain conclusions, but he got one part.

“So you were stalling.” 

Dean nodded, flipping a turn signal and heading towards the cemetery.

“She was listening.” 

“What was all that about us needing a few hours to prepare?”

“Gotta lay a trap if you want anything to go your way.”

Sam stared at him.

“... You planned a trap in there?”

“We need her to go to her grave.” Dean began to explain his reasoning. It came much clearer now that he was away from the immediate danger. “She heard us talking about knowing how to kill her and coincidentally exactly where we were going to be. What she doesn’t know is that we don’t need prep time...” He shook his head, muttering to himself. “Hope Neils not stupid enough to piss her off.”

“Whoah, wait, why?”

Dean looked at Sam annoyed. Wasn’t it clear?

“Because she’ll kill him. She doesn’t  **need** him anymore, Sam. He brought her back, didn’t even think to tie her to him, and now she’s wandering around killing people who wronged her. If we hadn’t figured this out... she probably would have gone after Lindsey tonight.”

“Why Lindsey?”

“She did the horizontal tango with Matt, she was the reason Angela broke up with him.”

“And you know this how?” Sam asked, honestly so very confused how Dean had all this information just floating around in his head and hadn’t even told him about it. And how easily he was telling him now. What was the trigger to this shift in Dean? Was it dangerous? Was it... was it a smell?

“She still smelled like him. I didn’t put two and two together until we went to Mark’s.”

“... I don’t have any words for this, Dean. Where did you learn all about that magic stuff?”

“What magic stuff?” Dean wrinkled his nose, at the bad taste that word left behind.

“Knowing he didn’t bind her, knowing that he could have?”

Dean didn’t have an answer. Not really. 

“... It just made sense.”

Except... well... it really hadn’t. It was kind of a leap in logic, wasn’t it?

 

* * *

They waited by the grave of Angela Manson for almost fifteen minutes before Dean started to feel tense. Sam was on the other end of the cemetery, so that if she came from that direction, he could be the first to strike. Doggie-Dean was under pretty easy to follow orders to tell Sam the second he felt the foul presence of the zombie.

Which would be easy, she was nearing... he could tell.

Until she came close enough to become a threat, Dean couldn’t help but mull over the events of the day. It had started out easy enough. Search and sniff, recon. Then the going to people's houses, asking questions, getting answers. The reveal. The research. It had all gone basically textbook.

.... So why didn’t it feel like it?

Dean felt fine, but Sam was sending off vibes of ‘worry’, and not just because they were about to take on a zombie. He was worried for Dean. It hadn’t quite started until Neil, but there had been a taste of it following Sam. Now it was like the star of the dish. It tinged everything Dean felt for Sam, from Sam, and around Sam. It was... distracting.

“Anything?” Sam asked from across the graveyard. Usually Dean wouldn’t have heard him, the distance was pretty great, but it was quiet, and just them.

_ :She might be on her way. Nothing yet.: _

“And you’re sure she’ll come?”

_ :Positive.: _

For the first time, it wasn’t the smell that came first for Dean. He must have been downwind. The thing that came to him was the heartbeat of a very alive human, stuttering in fear, but alive. Neil. She brought him along. Which was good, cause it meant that he wasn’t dead, and bad, because it was a human. A human about to witness him and Sam work in tandem. About to see them work their magic.

Then came the smell of death and rotten-ness.

_ :They are here. Neil is with her... not sure why except for maybe a meat shield.” _

Dean hid his thoughts about the kid and readied himself for battle.

Surprise was the best weapon they had at the moment. One moment could make or break a fight, could make the loser or the winner. One moment was all that was needed.

Dean, luckily, had two.

“Angela, there is no way they could  _ actually  _ have a way of destroying you,” Neil laughed nervously. Another voice spoke.

“Baby,” The new voice said. “You don’t want me to be hurt, do you?”

“No, of course not, Ang,” 

“Then come, Neil,” The dead girl had an airy, light voice. “Let’s go make sure these two whack jobs don’t actually have a way to hurt me.”

Smart. The dead girl was smart, but also, Dean thought, stupid. Sure, she was probably strong and nearly impenetrable since she couldn’t die, again, but she had never faced Hunters before. She didn’t know the first thing about dealing with either he or Sam. 

And the first thing was: never trust the words coming out of a Hunter’s mouth.

_ :Going in.: _

When Neil was a few feet in front of his undead girlfriend Dean struck. He went from Dog to human in a step, pulled his silver-knife that had been in his belt, out, and went for Angela’s back. Only, apparently a few seconds was enough time for her to sense Dean. Before the knife could come down on her chest, she spun around.

Which turned out to be better, since the silver knife went straight into her sternum. Right above her heart.

“Ang!” Neil called out, in surprise.

Dean smiled as the knife went clean through. His smile faded as Angela snarled at him, pushing into the silver knife and catching him off guard. His footing faltered, and he lost a good grip on his feet. With superhuman strength she pushed Dean and he went  _ flying _ . 

“Oomph!” Dean groaned as he slid down the tree a length. Dean shook away the birds flying in front of his face.

That was gonna hurt in the morning.

When he got his wits about him, he looked up to the two in front of him. Just in time to see Neil staring at Angela, who was taking the knife out from her chest like she was a stick of butter. Her eyes were dark as she looked at the silver knife with distaste.

Throwing it on the ground, she came at Dean.

_ Shit _ , Dean thought.   _ She was fast! _

Dean transformed into dog-Dean and bolted. With four legs, he was fast. Unfortunately, it seemed becoming a zombie made one  _ inhumanly  _ fast. Angela kept up with Dean as he ran towards her former grave, soon to be her forever grave if Sam and Dean had anything to say about it.

Bursting into the open area of the cemetery Dean ran towards where Sam was hidden, lying in wait. 

They had plans. They had backup plans. At least half of them included Dean as a dog, but most all of them included Sam re-killing Angela. Dean was better at being bait since he had been the one to lay down the trap. 

And none of those plans had actually thought that Neil would  _ fight  _ back. In fact, none of them considered that Neil would  **run** at them screaming and shouting to distract them from re-killing Angela. Nor that Sam would punch him out. Nor that he would go down so easily.

In fact... It was just a stupid human moment that Sam promised he was going to laugh about it later.

_ Idiot. _

“Neil!” Angela called out, as best she could, turning to attack Sam who was closest. She tackled him down, leaving Sam groaning on the ground. Dean managed to distract her, after a few moments of quick dodging and feigns. Dean led Angela straight into Sam’s knife. But two stabs of their silver knives did no damage whatsoever. Just pissed her off.

_ :Plan B! _ : Dean said, with a snarl as he threw himself at Angela. : _ We’ve got to stake her into the coffin!: _

“Way ahead of you Dean!” Sam called out as he punched Angela in the jaw to give himself some time to get near to the grave.

“Wait!” Angela called out, frantic. She looked like a mad woman with all the dried blood from the stab wounds, but there was something about her face that was still beautiful. It gave Sam pause for a moment, it was all she needed. “It's not what you think. I didn't ask to be brought back. But it's still me. I'm still a person. Please.”

The pleading, unfortunately for her, fell on deaf ears. With an almost apologetic grimace, Sam raised the gun and shot her straight in the forehead. She staggered, but was otherwise alive, zombie as she was. Yet, she was just close enough to the grave that all it would take was the right gust of wind to blow her inside.

Luckily, Dean weighed approximately a gust of wind times his own weight.

The tumble Dean and Angela took as Dean leapt at her jumbled bones and brains. Angela was too surprised to respond quickly, groaning in abject pain - which was so unzombie like - but Dean was the one who had attacked. Transforming, Dean quickly grabbed the spear-like pipe made of silver they had had put in the grave before hand.

“Wait! No!” Angela yelled, as Dean reared back and thrust the spear right through her chest into the coffin.

There was a brief moment of convulsions as Angela re-died, a moment where her eyes were open, where they stared at Dean. Where they questioned who the monster was. Before stillness.

Trying to catch his breath, Dean leaned against the side of the grave, relieved it was over. There was silence for a beat, then -

“Dean?” Sam called out above him. 

“Here!” Dean called back. “Here, Sam.”

“You okay?”

Then Sam’s face peeked over the  hole.

“I’m good.”

“She’s dead?”

Dean nodded. “Yes... Well, again,”

Sam sighed a breath of relief. 

* * *

Dean and Sam couldn’t take their time re-filling the hole. They only had an hour, two at most, before the sun was up and someone would come questioning.  Neil woke up with a goose egg on his head about halfway through their re-application of soil to coffin.

They didn’t really need to talk until that happened, so they hadn’t.

“Whass-happening?” Neil woke slowly and, considering he had been bludgeoned with the heel of Dean’s silver knife, considerably well. 

“Well, champ,” Dean said as he grunted, spooning a pile of dirt back over the coffin. “We took care of your magical little mess up for you.”

“Magical... little...” Neil was slow on the uptake, but abruptly he sat up, groaning as he held his hands. “Angela!”

Dean gave Sam his ‘this is all you’ look. It wasn’t his job to deal with emotional people. He usually just slapped them, but they also needed to treat this with a certain level of kiddie gloves, considering the kid had seen him go from dog to Dean to dog again. Still. Not Dean’s problem.

Sam dropped his shovel, earning a angry scowl from Dean, who continued his work.

“Alright, yeah, how much do you remember?”

Neil blinked.

“Uh, well, when you guys left, I went to talk to Angela. She had heard everything.”

Dean felt a smug and called out. “I know. I wanted her to.”

“- Wait. What?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It was a trap, Neil. We had to get Angela to come back to her grave. It was one of the only ways we knew how to kill her.”

Neil’s eyes watered. “Why’d you have to kill her, though? She didn’t do anything!”

“Uh, she was a Zombie.” Dean called out, with a scoff. He only had a few more inches of soil left, so he hurried up. 

“But she wasn’t hurting anyone!”

“She killed Matt.” Dean called in between grunts.

Neil just looked absolutely shellshocked. His eyes far away. Dean could see him starting to waver on the edge of passing out, and collapsing. He glared at Sam, before throwing his shovel away from the mess of a grave, and tromping over to Neil. Sam reached for him, but Dean shrugged over his hand on his shoulder.

He reached Neil and then crouched in front of him.

Neil startled, staring at Dean. 

“You - you turned into a dog,” He stated, and if he were any more pale, he’d be suspect of being a zombie.

“Yup,” Dean stated, arms on his knees, on his tiptoes. “I did. We’re not talking about that, Neil, buddy, we’re talking about you,”

“Me?” He squeaked.

“You,”

But, Dean didn’t talk. He waited. He was good at waiting. Talking was annoying and petty and he didn’t always make words that were... ‘good’. So he crouched, and he stared into Neil’s eyes, and he waited for him to work his little brain into the equation. He was smart enough to bring a girl back to life, after all, he could figure this out, too.

“... She was going to kill me, wasn’t she?”

Dean, as a rule, didn’t wear kid gloves with idiots, but he’d never had a nose, or ears, of a dog before either. This was new territory. And the kid was leaking sadness, and agony, and understanding, and pain. He got it. He did. He messed up, he saw his life flash before his eyes, he got it. Dean didn’t feel like rubbing his face in it. At least... not right now. He didn’t need a slap he needed... a hug.

“Don’t say a thing,” He called over his shoulder at Sam, preemptively, before he transformed. 

“Wha - “ Sam turned to him and stared. 

He cursed, silently, in his mind, that his phone was all the way behind the bush.

As a dog, Dean settled across Neil’s lap. That was all the man-boy needed. With great wracking sobs, he hugged Dean around his neck. He sobbed, he lamented over Angela, but mostly he shook with relief that it was over. He hugged a little too tight, but Dean was used to that with children, so he wasn’t too bothered. His breathing wasn’t constricted, after all.

He saw Sam staring.

_ :Not a word,: _ Dean sent Sam’s way, his ears laying flat on his head as Neil cried into his fur. : _ Not a single, word,: _

Sam kept quiet, for now, and went back to shoveling.

In the car afterwards, after dropping Neil off, and cleaning up in Neil’s shower, and leaving the kid with a healthy fear of all things supernatural and with the understanding that if he ever did anything that stupid again, they'd be back but for  **him** , next time; they drove. 

The music was turned low, yet neither of them spoke. They were exhausted. Digging up a grave, fighting a zombie, refilling a grave - it was taxing. Dean had personally been kicked, thrown, and then hugged within an inch of his life. Sam had at least gotten some rest between, and he had a few more hours sitting and relaxing, so he was in the drivers seat.

“So - “ Sam began. Dean interrupted him without skipping a beat, eyes closed, leaning against the window.

“Not. A. Word.”

“I was just going to say - “

“Sam. Shut your pie-hole,”

Sam’s lips twitched into a smile, but he obeyed.

The rest of the drive was silent.

* * *

When Sam fell asleep, Dean finally allowed himself to mull over what he was feeling. Relief, that they were alive. Weary, from the aches and pains littering his chest. Guilty -

He stopped short and slowed down, just enough, not enough to wake Sam as he began to really think it over.

Understanding Neil was easy. Dean could understand him almost as if he was him. Sacrificing something, for someone. It was as ingrained in Dean as hunting was. Family, deserved every sacrifice. Every single one. Except this, right? Bringing someone back?

Dean’s hands clenched on the wheel as he stepped on the gas. 

He had told Sam not to though, and he knew that Sam would follow his words on this. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any weird discrepancies... you are probably completely right. I am sick at the moment and my brain is fuzzy, but I have read over this chapter so many times I am not actually sure what I've written.


	5. Slide To The Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a vision of a man committing murder-suicide.  
> Dean's never going to be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 1 of 2 for Episode 5: Simon Says. Hope you guys enjoy because we get to see more Doggie-Dean freakin' out and trying to survive his weird life with his half-demon-blooded sibling.

It’s not specifically that Dean has forgotten about Sam’s visions. It’s not. Dean remembers the terror those first visions had caused to stir within him. When Sam had told him what was about to happen, when he hadn’t believed, and then when they had happened exactly as he said they were going to. When they figured out that what Sam had been seeing, was what was really happening, he hadn’t really been able to sleep right for a week.

Add onto the fact that Dean had been dealing with being a dog for the past few months? 

Well, it was easy to forget. Really, it was. But he hadn’t.

And Sam gasping in the gas station bathroom after being damn near catatonic for almost half a minute... that was hard to ignore. Especially when Dean had such great ‘Sam-dar’, and usually knew the  _ minute  _ Sam was feeling out of whack. It was unsettling, Sam being fine one minute and then the next such strange agony.

“Sam?” He demanded as he busted in the door. “Sam!”

His brother was trying to get his breath back. He didn’t even look at Dean as he stared into his own eyes in the mirror. Trapped.

“What was  **that** ?” Dean demanded. No response. “What did you...” He lowered his voice as someone passed behind him. “What did you see?”

“I -” Sam stuttered, fingers white as he clung to the sink. “I saw -”

Sam stumbled.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Dean whispered as Sam tried to turn to him. He helped Sam to the wall, to give him stability. “Easy there.”

When Sam started talking, it just seemed to come out in a burst. 

“Murder-suicide.” 

“What?” Dean asked, for further clarification. 

“I don’t - I don’t know, it was a big black guy, and he didn’t like guns, but he - he went into a gun store? He asked to see a gun, then he asked to see the bullets, and then - he shot the guy. Dean, he shot the guy.” Then as if the ending of whatever he had seen dawned on him. “He shot himself after telling everyone it would be alright.” 

As he talked, it was hurried, he looked confused as if he was trying to put together the story in his own head but his mouth was already moving too fast. Dean tried to follow along, he thought he was, too, but he couldn’t help but think to himself:  _ Why can’t Sam have any happy visions? _

Dean bundled Sam out of the bathroom and into the Impala. Ignoring any looks thrown his way. His brother was not exactly stable yet, the headache still persisting and the vision coming through in blotchy splashes of memories, so he just took it slow. Doesn’t talk, makes sure to drive away from the sun. Considerate of him considering it's the opposite way of civilization. It's not until they are down the road a few dozen miles before Sam starts talking.

“We gotta go see Ash.”

Too good to be distracted by anything while driving, Dean didn’t react.

“Why?” He finally asked.

“Every time I have these visions... they’re connected to the Yellow-Eyed Demon,”

There it was. The Demon. It always came back to the demon.

“I don't know, man, why don't we just chill out, think about this.”

Sam stared at him funny. “What’s there to think about?”

How to word it? How to paint a picture that Sam would understand?

Dean was finding more and more that he wasn’t sure how to speak what he was thinking. When he had been human, he had been sure. Arrogant. Easily the best thing to happen to the world since... well, nothing else. Close second would have been pie. With his change of status to  _ cursed _ -human, he hadn’t lost his absolutism. Not really. He just... had cooled his own fire. Banked back the arrogance and tried listening more than running his mouth.

Not to mention the fact that going to Ellen and Jo’s place, that was packed full of Hunters, wasn’t the smartest play by any stretch of the imagination. Not when they were one Familiar and one demon-vision-having human.

“And you think going to the roadhouse will help?” Dean tried to go for subtle, first. “Can’t we just call Ash?”

“We could, but I would feel better explaining the situation in person.”

Right. Phone taps were a thing, though Dean didn’t think the NSA were too interested in a couple of deadbeat, credit-card stealing men who talked about monsters all day. 

Better safe than sorry. 

Dean still wasn’t convinced. Sam seemed to sense that.

“Why are you so against it?”

“... There are going to be hunters there.”

“... And?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you, Sam?” Dean asked, exasperated. “I’m a  **Familiar** . You’re having weird, supernatural visions that are probably connected to a demon. I mean, we’re freak’s, okay? Of like... the most bizarre cases ever! What Hunter wouldn’t sense that within seconds of meeting us?”

That softened Sam right up.

“We’re both freak’s, Dean,” Sam soothed. “We’ll cover each other. We always do.”

Dean just shut his mouth and tried to think of a way out of this. After a half an hour, he didn’t come up with anything really suitable. It was just fear talking. He wasn’t about to let fear stop him. With a soft sigh, he turned onto the nearest eastern headed off-ramp, on his way to the Roadhouse.

* * *

The few times they had visited the roadhouse before it was during off hours, mostly to get Ellen or Ash’s thoughts on something too sensitive or too paper-heavy to talk about on the phone. Tonight they arrived when business was slowing down. Still a lot of people in the saloon, but not nearly at peak.

Inside, there were hunters. Hunters that went after anyone who was supernatural or freaky.

Someone like Dean... someone like Sam.

It still made Dean’s skin crawl, thinking about how close he was to being outed. 

He tried to gauge his walk, what he must look like and superimposed over that outward image what he  **used** to be. Especially since he just... didn’t know what he did subconsciously with his body anymore. He knew he did something. He knew he was different. He knew it. And he knew there were warning signs any Hunter worth their salt would know to look for.

How the tables have turned. 

Before, before Gordon, before the curse: he enjoyed hanging out with humans, drinking beer, betting and winning, talking, boasting of his triumphs (sexual or otherwise), and just generally being... himself. Arrogant, unapologetic, strong, smug... human.

Dean hadn’t felt himself for a while now.  

“Anything interesting?” Sam asked. He always asked that, now, aware that Dean was always listening. 

Just in luck, Dean had heard something, which brought his frown right around into an amused huff.

“Just... Jo kicking someone’s ass at that shooting game.” Dean smirked a little as the guy cursed low. “Seems he got hustled.”

“She’s good,” Sam said, getting out of the car. “You coming?”

The familiar took a moment, listening further. Everyone’s heartbeats were steady, some slow and easy probably passed out or close to it. Nobody was rambunctious. None of them seemed itching for a fight or a hunt. It was just another Tuesday night for these people.

_You’re being stupid,_ Dean told himself, firmly. This was nothing. He’d fought vampires, and demons, and all manner of monsters. What was a human to that?

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’m coming.”

* * *

Inside the roadhouse, as soon as Dean walked in, he felt bombarded by it all. There were, at most, twelve people in the main part of the bar, but it sounded more like a stampede. He managed to get looks from the nearest four guys as he entered, and when they saw Sam entering in behind him, they went back to their drinks. Dean didn’t know if they were Hunters, or just regulars, or a combination of the two, so he stayed on guard. The smell was different than it was when the place was closed. Smelled like beer, and sweat, and food. There was also a smokiness that made Dean want to sneeze.

“Hey, Dean,” Jo greeted in a good mood with fifty-bucks lining her pocket. “Sam.”

Sam and Dean both nodded politely to Jo. Dean a little nicer, probably. “How you doin', Jo?”

She just gave him a look over her shoulder as she sauntered away. Pleased. Dean could smell it on her. Triumphant. With a smirk, he realized she was talented, knew it, and made sure everyone else knew it too. It was arrogance. Familiar, too. Dean shook his head as he walked forward.

“Just can't stay away, huh?” Jo asked them from behind the bar with a smile as they followed her. 

“Yeah, looks like.“ Sam said, but he was vibrating with nervous energy. “Where’s Ash?”

Jo looked endlessly amused. “In his back room.”

“Great, thanks,” Sam said and quickly started headed back. 

“I’m fine!” She called back to him as he passed her. “Nice to see you too!”

She looked to Dean who was slow to follow.

“Sorry, he's, we're...” Dean smiled and shrugged helplessly. “Kind of on a bit of a timetable.”  

As Dean passed Jo, he could smell the confusion, but also the amusement from before and the freshness from the brother’s actions. It masked the other smells for a moment, gave him a moment of comfort, before being thrust into the world again. It was nice.

And then he smelled the backrooms.

Unclean motel room, was the smell Dean had dubbed what he was now smelling. It was mixed with the scent of smoke, something sweeter but no less acidic that Dean thought might be marijuana, along with all other motel smells he had once been overwhelmed with on his first day alive as a familiar. It stung his nose, which made Dean wonder if someone could cover their scent, if someone supernatural, could mask themselves. Shaking his head, he didn’t dwell on that. It was just a theory anyway.

Dean arrived just in time for Ash to open the door... displaying himself. Dean didn’t look away fast enough, so he caught a glimpse. And it wasn’t small or average, which made it about twelve times worse than if it had been small. 

_ Jesus, Ash, _ Dean thought to himself, eyes averted to his face. 

“Sam? Dean?” Ash asked, amused. “Sam  **and** Dean.”

Sam was still pretty squirrely, and he got right into it.

“Hey Ash. Um. We need your help.”

Ash cocked his jaw, tongue swirling somewhere Dean couldn’t see, but it made a sound that was  _ not _ pleasant.

“Looks like I’ll be needing pants.”

_ Thank God, _ Dean thought to himself. For a second there he thought Ash was going to invite them in as he was and they would have had to deal with that entire spectacle. Sam waited patiently. Dean a little less. It took Ash a minute or so and then he reopened the door to his room to exit. 

They ended up going to the bar and by that time, about four more people had left the establishment. Dean was keeping track. Finding a booth in the back, closer to where the backroom was, Sam, Dean, and Ash all set up to talk. 

“Alright, so what do you two need from me?” Ash asked as soon as he was sprawled into the booth across from them.

Sam reached into his pocket. Dean was confused for half a second, before he remembered that Sam had been sketching something on the ride over. It had been darkening when Sam had started, so Dean hadn’t gotten a look, but now Sam was taking it out and placing it on the table.

Both Dean and Ash leaned forward to check it out.

It was a picture. A sketch of some logo. 

“Can you find out where this came from?” Sam asked, and Dean had heard Sam desperate. He had heard Sam weak. He had heard him cry, and angry, and everything under the sun. He knew every emotion and how Sam reacted.

This... this was Sam determined.

* * *

“Well, I got a match. It's the logo from the Blue Ridge bus lines in Guthrie, Oklahoma.”

It had been almost an hour. There was one old guy left at the bar and Jo and Ellen were both cleaning up. It was quiet. So when Ash said that, loudly, both Sam and Dean perked up from their half-asleep position. Sam woke much faster than Dean. He might not even have been dozing like Dean was.

“Okay.” Sam said, looking to the computer Ash had turned towards me. “Do me a favor - check Guthrie for any demonic signs, or omens, or anything like that.”

Dean swiped a hand over his eyes and when he returned to the light he saw Ash staring at Sam.

“You think the demon's there?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Ash didn’t buy Sam’s uncertainty.

“Why would you think that?”

Dean stepped in. “Just check it, please?”

Grimacing but not taking his eyes off his computer, Ash shook his head and complied. He sat and tapped away on his computer for the new few minute. Demons, surprisingly, were easier to track than logos. Sam had his arms crossed, fingers tapping away nervously and erratically. Dean wanted to slap him to stop it but held back. 

Ash leaned back with a sigh. “No, sir, nothing. No demon.”

Sam sighed aggravated through his nose. “All right, try something else for me.” 

Ash quickly repositions his fingers, to follow through with whatever request Sam said. 

“Search Guthrie for a house fire. It would be 1983, fire's origin would be a baby's nursery, night of the kid's six month birthday.”

Ash’s fingers had started tapping, but then he stopped as Sam continued talking. Continued giving way too much information. Honestly, he smelled more startled than confused. Suddenly paranoid, Dean looked around for eavesdroppers. Sam was talking about things that were very sensitive to their family. Nobody looked at them, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Okay, now that is just weird, man.” Ash said, cocking his head. “Very specific, too. Why the hell would I be looking for that?”

Sam knew how Hunters worked. Knew how this all went. He pulled a beer bottle up and slid it towards Ash. “'Cause there's a PBR in it for ya.”

Ash eyed it before his scent mellowed out quickly, giving Dean whiplash. The smartie-pants reached forward to grab the beer and brought it closer. He smiled smugly.

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

Dean went up to the bar to get his ‘usual’, a cream soda, from Jo as Ash began searching through Sam’s specifications. Cream soda had slowly become his kryptonite now that he knew soda was  _ actually _ decent and not just something added to alcohol to drink, that teenagers drank.  **And** that tasted like liquid pie.

He was just beginning to relax, thankful that there were no Hunters around to sniff out Sam or him, when Jo put on a song.

He chuckled. Couldn’t help it. 

“REO Speedwagon?” He asked after a few seconds, watching Jo swaying to the music. She turned to him, with a smile.

“Damn right,” Jo said, unable to keep the smile off her face, though she tried. “Kevin Cronin sings it from the  _ heart _ .”

As Dean listened, he realized... maybe Jo was right. The volume of the music was high to him, like most things were when they were in the same room together, but there was something to the pitch, to the tone, that was different than just regular old radio. It wasn’t talking either, there was a certain rhythm to speech. The lack of something else in singing. Dean was still figure out his ears, true, but he had had a lot of time to listen to music and hear the subtleties of song. All kinds of songs. 

Poking fun at Jo, he told her. “He sings it from the  **hair** . There's a difference.”

Jo shook her head, but she still smelled amused, so there was that. Then there was something else that attached itself to her scent as Dean raised his glass to his lips. Pausing, sniffing as subtley as he could, he waited for Jo to ask what seemed to be on her mind.

With a quick glance over her shoulder at her mother, for some reason, Jo turned to him, fully. 

“That profile you've got Ash looking for?”

The drink stalled on its way to his lips. Everything in him froze for half a second, before he nodded to her, to continue talking.  _ Where was she going with this? _

“Your mom died the same way, didn't she?” And Dean realized that the smell on Jo was one part fear, one part understanding, and another part compassion. She was hesitant to talk about this, because she had seen Dean's own hesitancy. “A fire in Sam's nursery?”

“Listen, Jo,” Dean set his cup down. “it's kind of a family thing.”

He tried to convey with eye contact that this wasn’t something to get into. He tried to convey to Jo to backoff. But how does one do that in a few seconds of eye contact?

One doesn’t.

“I could help.” She protested, slapping her rag down in front him.

“Believe me, Jo, I know you are capable of just about anything,” She smelled rather pleased with herself, but Dean had to continue on to deflect her. “But we've got to handle this one ourselves.” 

Jo opened her mouth to say something, but Dean cut her off. “Besides, if I ran off with you I think your mother might kill me.“

Ellen had ears almost as good as him. She perked up, looking towards Dean and Jo. With a nervous smile, Dean waved once at her. Ellen watched him suspiciously for a moment before going back to her glasses.

“You're afraid of my mother, Dean?” And it's clear, as she says it, that she’s insinuating she’s surprised a Familiar, or anyone, would be afraid of a little old woman who owned a saloon. But Dean knows better than to let something like size dictate terror. And the woman hung out with Hunters. She was more badass that a lot of people Dean knew.

“I think so,” He admitted. “I mean, also, consider this - I’m literally a dog?” He raised a brow, wiggling it.

Jo scoffed. 

And there was a moment where electricity sizzled in the air. Dean didn’t feel this often enough now that he didn’t go to bars to drink, or specifically search out woman, but it was here now. It was in between them and it was as real as any smell, or sound, or touch that Dean had ever felt before.

And she was actually feeling it towards him. A familiar. A freak.

Before Dean could really act on anything, Sam came up behind him.

“We have a match!” Sam stated excitedly. “We've gotta go. Now!”

Regretfully, the electricity ended there. With a less sure smile than usual, Dean saluted with his soda, chugged it, and said his goodbyes. He tried not to feel disappointed, but he could already smell it and sense it on Jo as he passed her.

 

* * *

They leave close to midnight. Both of them should be tired, but they’ve done this routine often enough that it's second nature to push through the first inkling of droopy-itchy-eyes. They’ll drive through the night. It’s eight hours minimum, with at least two or three pit stops to change drivers and to fill up on gas.

The first few minutes are silent, but Dean can’t keep himself silent. It’s not in his nature and Jo had been playing that song... He got through a few verses and knew he was being judged deeply by his brother but that didn’t stop him.

“You know,” Sam said, side-eyeing him from the passenger seat. “You haven’t sung in months.”

“Hmm, haven’t noticed,” Dean said, but he was too pumped by something in the air to be brought down by Sam. Perhaps even by Jo and what she had smelled like. Dean didn’t know. He’d had less than a year cursed, whereas he’d had more than twenty years as a human. He was playing it all by ear. 

“Really?” Sam drawled.

Alright. Fine. That brought him down.

“Shut up.” Dean said, reaching for the dial on the radio to turn something that wasn’t him singing. He saw, out of the corner of his eyes, something on Sam’s lap. “Hey, what’s that?”

“Ash printed this out for me.” Sam told him, before he started reading off. “Andrew Gallagher. Born in eighty three, like me. Lost his mother in a nursery fire exactly six months later, also like me.”

“So you’re thinking the demon killed his mom, too?”

“Same MO.” 

“Damn...” Dean shook his head. “How did you even know to look for this guy?”

Sam snorted at him, unimpressed that Dean wasn’t following his logic. “Every premonition I've had, if they're not about the demon they're about the other kids the demon visited. Like Max Miller, remember him?”

_ How could Dean forget him? _

“Of course,” Dean shook his head to dislodge the memory of Max Miller with his mind tricks. With his ability to use his mind for such... evil. It made Dean’s skin crawl. Very few things made Dean’s skin crawl like that... He’d thought he’d seen it all, after all.

“The point is, Dean,” Sam said, waving his papers in front of him. “He was  **killing** people. And I was having the same type of visions about him. And  _ now  _ it could be happening all over again with this Gallagher guy.”

Dean saw the connection. He prayed it wasn’t true, because that was just another heaping pile of crap to add onto their own already crappy lives. More strings connecting them to a fate that was looking damn near fatal. But it made too much sense ... if the two of them had learned anything: If it was likely, it was probably true. Fool me twice, as they say.

“Alright, I’m following,” Dean told him, turning onto the onramp to take the straightest path. “How do we find this guy?”

Sam sighed through his nose as he shuffled the papers.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No current address, no current employment. He still owes money on all his bills - phone, credit, utilities...”

_ So, what? He was a runner?  _ Dean had never really stayed in one place long enough for people to know him, so he at least had never run. He simply walked out. The Winchester way... With his throat caught by a cotton like feeling, Dean realized that had been taught to him by his father.

He shook those thoughts away as easily as it had come and went back to Sam.

“Collection agency flags?” Dean asked, trying to paint a picture of this guy.

Sam took only a second to look through the papers. “None in the system,”

“... They let this guy walk?”

“Seems like it. There's a work address from his last W-2, about a year ago.” Sam pulled out the sheet of paper from the middle of the pile. 

Dean listened as Sam told him the address.

“Let's start there,”

* * *

They arrived in the small town of Guthrie, Oklahoma just in time for breakfast at the motel they were going to stay at. Only Sam didn’t feel like they had time for that. The time that Sam had remembered in the vision had been a almost noon thirty. Knew they only had a few hours.

Dean thought they had plenty of time, but Sam wanted to jump in feet first.

With a sigh and a snatched bagel from the breakfast laid out in the motel’s lobby, Dean followed Sam. 

“I’ll go search for anything off. You can have the car.” Dean told Sam, a little peeved about the not eating enough, but used to it.

“Meet at ten?” Sam asked, but Dean was already walking away to find a more secluded spot to transform. 

“Sure, sure.”

Dean was more interested in finding a place to change than listening to the slight uptick in Sam’s voice that told him he was worried for him. It always made him want to turn right back around and comfort Sam, but he was stronger than that. He’d had trouble ignoring Sam when he cried as a child, but he had learned that if he ever wanted to learn, sleep, or get anything done - Sam needed to be left to his own devices.

No matter how Sam always managed to get himself into some kind of trouble when left alone.

* * *

The town didn’t smell off, and Dean had been sniffing for almost forty minutes. His nose was damn near  _ tired _ . If his nose could be such a thing. His paws also hurt, his stomach was eating itself, and he wanted to go to sleep. He still had an hour until he had to meet Sam, so he didn’t see anything wrong with taking a break.

The town was small, after all, so he’d already lapped it.

He found a park next to a church and stretched out next to one of the benches. He picked a spot with plenty of shade and settled in, jaw against his overlocking paws. He shouldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t so close to the time of one of Sam’s visions, but it was just... so boring, so tiring, otherwise. If he went back to Sam he had to deal with his brother’s relentless need to stop his vision from happening, even if there still was hours left noon. He also would have had to deal with being a human... Here. In the park. It was nothing like that. It was peaceful, quiet, and Dean easily closed his eyes to doze off. 

“ - honey, don’t touch that dog!”

Dean woke to a worried female voice calling out seconds before he felt small hands ruffling his neck fur calmly and softly. He startled briefly, but aware unconsciously of a child being near him, he didn’t jerk or tear away. He woke and stretched, looking to the kid next to him, sniffing her. She couldn’t have been more than seven. Old enough to listen to her mother, but clearly not willing to.

“Aww, lookit’her mom!” The girl smiled. “She doesn’t mind.”

_ She _ ? Dean was offended.  _ Did he not look masculine enough?  _ Still... He didn’t pull away from the girl. She wasn’t hurting anyone. Especially not Dean. He could get away easily enough, what did it hurt to let a girl scratch his ears? Dean was nothing if not a very selfish person at heart.

“Lisa,” The mother said, but she didn’t have as harsh a voice as before. “We don’t pet strange animals. He could have bit you... does he have any tags?”

The girl reached for his collar, turning the tags so she could read.

“It just says ... Oh,” She read his name sheepishly. “His name is Dean. He’s very friendly... do you think he’s lost?”

Lost? Dean snorted to himself. He was as lost as a duck in a pond.

“Is there a number to contact?” The mother asked, crouching next to Dean and petting in between his ears a hell of a lot more gently than her daughter. Huh. She was kind of hot, too. Long brunette hair, a little bit of indian blood if her face structure. Yeah. Hot.

“No,” Lisa said. “Do you think he’s lost?”

“Honey, he’s got a collar, he's clearly comfortable around people,” Her mother smiled. “He’ll be just fine.”

“But what if his people don’t come back?”

Lisa’s lower lip wobbled and Dean felt her mother melt.

“Well, we could always wait?”

Lisa lit up and Dean knew that it was time to get the hell out of dodge. When humans went all gooey and soft around the edges with him - well it was time to book it. He stood up abruptly to stretch, limber up, and wag his tail at the girl and her mother. No need for them to worry he was about to bite them. He wasn’t  _ that  _ kind of familiar. As Lisa was petting him, he made one quick movement to get away from their nimble fingers and off into the park.

The bell on the church chimed ten times. 

_ :Oh my way, Sam!: _ Dean called out, ignoring the mother and Lisa calling out behind him.

“Dean come back!” Lisa called, but Dean ignored her. He had a mission.

Well. That and he was hungry.

He made his way to the diner in front of the motel for a quick burger. Well. Not quick. A burger. He was going to take his time. Taking only a second to hide behind a dumpster to change, he entered into the building.

“Hi!” A cheery blonde greeted him with her best customer-service smile. “What can I do for you?”

Dean turned the charm up about sixty percent and smiled right on back. “How’s about your finest burger and... your name?”

The girl blushed prettily, but he got his burger. And he got her name. Tracey. 

He’d be back, that was for sure.

* * *

Sam found Dean sitting at a bench in front of the motel, which was also in front of the town's general store which was next to the diner, eating a burger.

“Find anything?” Sam asked as he sat gingerly on the bench next to Dean. His brother tossed him the bag that held only fries.

Taking a minute to finished chewing, Dean replied. “Nada.”

Sam huffed as leaned back. Dean wasn’t sure if that sign was positive or negative in respect to Sam’s feelings.

“So human.”  

Ahh. Yeah. that sounded like disappointment.

“Our guy then?” 

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Pretty sure... You sure you didn’t get anything?”

“Not a hint of sulphur, or any kind of demon activity,” Dean confirmed. “No blood either. Or weird smells. So can we go checkout where he used to work?”

“Yeah.” Sam said, but he was obviously a little lost in this thoughts.

“Hey - “ Dean snapped his fingers in front of his brothers face. 

“Hmm?”

“Where is this place anyway? That the dude used to work at?”

Sam smiled a little, before jerking his head across the street. “You’re looking at it.”

Across the street was the diner Dean had just been at for his burger. Looks like he was going to get the chance to charm Tracey’s pants off again.

* * *

They still had about two hours until the time when the murder-suicide was set to take place so they... took a few minutes to themselves. Dean took a quick dog-nap while Sam researched a few things on his laptop. With an hour to go, they then suited up and headed for the diner across the street.

The last place the law or anyone had seen Andy.

“Hey Tracey,” Dean greeted the waitress who he had met an hour before when he had gotten burgers.

“Well hey there, Dean,” Tracey greeted with a smile. Then she did a double take as she took in his suit. “Whoa, you clean up nice.”

Sam was staring between the two of them with a furrowed brow. Either impressed or completely baffled, Dean didn’t know, but he ignored him in favor of straightening his suit and showing off his shiny, fake badge. Dean wasn't sure which one he had grabbed or been given. It could be anything from FBI to a tax man. “Yeah. I’m on duty now.”

Tracey gave him an amused look after looking over the badge.

“You debt collectors?”

“Of a sort,” Dean said cheerily, as if he had known the entire time what his badge had said. “We’re here about an... Andrew Gallagher?”

“Ah.” Tracey said in dawning understanding, as she set down her coffee pot. “You won't get anything out of Andy, guys. I'm sorry, but they never do.”

Dean noted the nickname while Sam responded.

“I’m sorry, ‘they?’”

“People like you. Debt collectors.” She shook her head as Sam and Dean shared a look. “Once in awhile they come by. I don't know what Andy says to them, but they never come back.”

Well. That was off. So people had come and left with... nothing? That didn’t sound like debt collectors. Those sons of bitches were tenacious and cruel and did anything for a paycheque. Hell. That barely sounded like anyone with a badge. People with badges were not used to being denied anything... 

Sam’s thoughts followed the same train as Dean’s.

“We’re not here to collect...” Sam spun their story around. “We’re actually here to  **give** Andy money. On behalf of his Great Aunt Leta. She passed, God rest her soul, and left Andy a sizable estate.”

Tracey closed her mouth with an ‘oh’ and leaned forward. It was clear that Tracey wasn’t the smartest kid on the block, so she didn’t question why a bunch of debt collectors wanted to  **give** Andy money. She didn’t question a lot of things, actually.

“Wow. That’s, crazy.”

Dean jumped on Sam’s story. “Yeah. You know Andy, are you a friend of his?”

“I used to be, yeah.” Tracey then busied herself cleaning off the counter. “I don't see much of Andy anymore.”

There was sorrow on her scent now. Dean could smell it as clear as if someone had fired a shot.

A man came up behind Tracey abruptly, with a box of supplies, to interrupt. “Andy? Andy kicks ass, man.”

Dean smelled something off about the kid, but he was human. He was also clearly not Andy, by the way Tracey’s scent didn’t exactly sour but it did... flutter between exasperated and annoyance. She had no love lost for the guy. Dean chalked the smell up to weird BO, the dislike Stacey was giving off, and just run of the mill mystery.

They had Andy to find, after all.

“Is that right?” Dean asked, but he was listening and smelling for more now.

“Yeah.” The kid smiled, all goofy and charming and disarming. “Andy can get you into  _ anything _ . He even got me backstage at Aerosmith once, it was beautiful, bro.”

The strangeness of the kid was forgotten in place of the weirdness of Andy. It seemed whatever the kid, Andy, wanted, he got. Whether it be debt’s forgotten, or tickets to concerts, or who knew what else. It had the smell of witch to it, but not literally. Just, metaphorically. 

Dean smelled a rat, but for once... it wasn’t really a true one.

“How about bussing a table or two, Weber?” Tracey ordered the new guy.

“Yeah,” Webber smiled. There was nothing malicious to it. He was genuinely happy, or at least nonplus, to do what he had been ordered to do. “You bet, boss.” Then he winked and was off with the bussing container.

Tracey watched Weber go with a roll of his eyes, before turning to Dean. “Look, if you want to find him, try Orchard Street. Just look for a van with a barbarian queen painted on the side.”

Dean was torn from paying attention to Weber to trying to understand what had just been said to him. “Barbarian queen?”

“She's riding a polar bear,” Tracey smirked, but she wasn’t impressed. “It's kind of hard to miss.”

* * *

‘Kind of hard to miss’ was an understatement. The van was a beacon to any nerd or sci-fi geek around. A garish baby, blue the painting on the side was honestly a work of art, but not one that should have ever been commissioned in the first place. Thankfully it was parked where Tracey had told them it would be.

Though Dean was sure anyone would have been able to give them directions...

“I'm sorry, Sam,” Dean said, trying and failing to hide a smile. “I'm starting to like this dude. That van is sweet.”

Sam didn’t look the least bit amused. 

“Hey. Sam.” Dean got no reaction. “What’s wrong?”

Sam did one of those monstrous sighs he did. Like the whole weight of the world was on his shoulders and wasn’t moving an inch. Dean mentally prepped himself.  _ Here we go again. _

“Nothing.” He said, like Dean would be convinced.

And even if Dean didn’t have an amazing nose and ears now, he could tell when Sam was beating himself up. Blaming himself.

“My nose says you’re lying.”

Sam looked startled to him, before crossing his arms, defensively. Dean didn’t back down as he stared him right down. He knew his brother would crumble eventually.

Crumble he did.

“This Andrew Gallagher,” Sam said through clenched teeth, his smell sour with worry, regret, and so many other things it made Deans head spin for a second. “He's the second guy like this we've found, Dean.” 

“So?” 

“The demon came to them when they were  _ kids _ , now they're  **killing** people.”

The lightbulb clicked for him. Dean saw why Sam was being so guarded, so wretched to himself. Sam was in pain. Not that physical kind of pain that Dean could fight tooth, and claw, and nail with. Mentally. Emotionally... The kind of pain that could only be battled by sheer strength of will and alcohol. Only one of which would be allowed in this situation.

So... Dean played devil's advocate.

“We don't know what Andrew Gallagher is, all right?” Dean admitted uncomfortably, not quite used to being so off-foot. “I haven’t smelled anything weird, or off. He could be innocent.”

“So it’s all a coincidence?” Sam demanded, with a scoff. 

Even Dean knew that there were no such things as coincidences. Lived his whole life knowing it.

“... No. It just may not be what we think it is.”

“My visions haven't been wrong yet,” Sam told him, jaw clenched tightly shut.

They hadn’t. That was true. But how often did things go exactly as planned, either?

“And, Sam?” Dean could feel there was something more. More to this pain in Sam. “What’s your point?”

“... My point is, I’m one of them.”

The truth, the conviction with which Sam spoke slapped Dean in the face like a well placed truth-bomb. Dean could only gape at Sam. Astounded that he could think that, let alone say it. A hundred things he could say to calm, to placate, to sooth Sam ran through his head. A million and one things to say.

And he choose:

“So what.”

That startled Sam right back. Startled him into look at Dean and looking his brother in the eye, and even though he couldn’t hear the truth that Dean had spoken with like Dean could for him - he knew that something was being said. Something important.

“Don’t you get it, Dean?” Sam demanded. “The _demon_ **said** he had plans for me and children like me.”

“And I bet that  _ Familiar _ had plans for me when he bit me.”

Sam frowned at him, but this time more contemplative. It made Sam remembered that he wasn’t the only freak in the family. He wasn’t the only failure. Some of the tension leached out of his shoulders, but he still held himself stiff.

“Yeah... You’re right, Dean, but I can’t help but think...” Dean waited patiently for Sam to speak, to add onto his words. “Maybe this  _ is _ his plan, maybe we're all a bunch of psychic freaks, maybe we're all supposed to be —”

“Killers?” Dean finished for him, not unkindly. 

Even as Sam clenched his fist and stared out at the van they had hunted down - he nodded surely. “Yeah.”

Dean knew his brother wasn’t just on one of his tangents. This was Sam that was worried about what was happening, what was going to happen, if he could be hijacked. If it was a possibility to be taken over, to be forced to do such heinous things as kill in cold blood. Dean knew the fear well. Dean knew the fear of turning into something he couldn’t control. The fear of not knowing the extent of his own capabilities.

How could he not humor his brother, knowing this?

“So what are you going to do about it?” Dean asked, but looked out the window so he didn’t see Sam’s head whip around to look at him.

“I -”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Dean told him. “I know  _ you _ . You went to college, Sam. You’ve got plans, and you’ve got outlines of plans, and you’ve got... you’re smart Sam. You’ve thought about this.”

Dean saw the clanking of gears in Sam's head as he looked at him. Saw him evaluating him.

“I - You’ve really changed.”

“Had to,” Dean said, his fingers clenching the steering wheel. “I was bit, thought I was going to die. Then when I didn’t - I had those thoughts, you know? What am I going to do if I go rogue? If I turn on you, or Bobby, or Ellen or Jo? What do I do if I get... bewitched by a witch to become a pet?”

Sam softened even more. Almost too much. They were still on a hunt, after all.

“Dean,”

“I know you know what I’m talking about,” There was a little bit of movement on the street. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“... I’m afraid that I won’t be able to control myself. That the demon will be able to just convince me to become a killer.”

Dean smirked at him.

“Sam, you aren’t a killer.”

Sam frowned at him severely. His face so serious.

“I kill things all the time.”

“Yeah. Werewolves, spirits, vampires - all things that had it coming to them.” Dean told him, making sure he got it. “You don’t kill humans. You don’t kill  _ innocents _ .”

All of the sudden, there was a high-pitched sound. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t awful, by any stretch of the imagination. It was like a dog whistle, but it was wrong too. Dean cocked his head and then turned to look out the window, out towards the stoop of the building next to the van.

There was a lone man walking away from the building, smiling with pep in his step. He wore a weirdly ornamental silk dragon robe over pajamas. He turned briefly once he was a few feet away, to wave up to a scantily clad woman in the window. Dean didn’t need his nose to tell him the story before the two of them. It was sex. Dean was slightly confused, because the kid wasn’t that good looking. He was scrawny and not muscular. He reminded Dean what Sam used to look like as a teen. What Sam would still look like if he hadn’t been trained to hunt and kill.

Sam had been looking, too.

“Got him.” He whispered, quick to reach for the handle to get out. 

Dean stopped him with a hand out to his chest. His senses, his instincts, were going wild. And not just the doggie-ones. The kid was meeting with someone in the street. If he could just... listen -  _ Ah,  _ **_bingo_ ** _. _

“Hey, Andy!” The man greeted, sounding pretty jovial.

“What’s up, Ben?” Andy replied, but before waiting for a response he pointed to the man’s, Ben, coffee cup and asked. “Man I’m parched. What kind of coffee is that?” 

“Latte.”

“Mm, my favorite. Can I have it?”

Dean was surprised to watch the man agree so easily and hand over the cup without a fight. Even smiled. 

It made Dean’s insides crawl. 

“Dean? What?” Sam demanded, watching the scene as well.

“Shhh.” Dean commanded him, listening. 

Andy walked further down the street, meeting an older black man at the corner. The voices were very faint that came back, but there was no commanding, or asking, or compelling - just a meeting in the street.

“That’s him!” Sam hissed next to him. “That older guy, that's him, that's the shooter.”

Dean could see why Sam had been so shook by the vision. The guy was a gentle old puff of a man. Even Dean could tell that, and he was at a distance.

“Really?” Dean asked, as Andy continued on his merry way.

“Yes!” Sam hissed, quickly getting out of the car. He waited only long enough to order Dean, “Stay on Andy!”

Dean rolled his eyes as his brother went after the older black man before hesitantly turning his attention back to the dragon-robe wearing kid. The vibe he got from him was off. He didn’t like it. But he was here to find out what was the deal with Andy, so he was going to find out. For Sam.

Andy was getting back into the van and taking off in the opposite direction of where the murder-suicide victim was about to go. 

Maybe Sam was right... Maybe Andy did have something to do with the death that was about to happen?

* * *

Dean only followed Andy for at most two or three streets before the van slid to park right in the middle of the street.

_ That’s not good. _ Dean thought but held his ground. He made sure to tuck a handgun into his jacket but otherwise kept his face blank. No need to give the wrong impression. His heart skipped a beat as he watched the door to the van open and the kid gets out. Andy’s face was all friendly and smiles as he came over to Dean’s window.

“Hey!” He greeted, a little breathless, and considering the small jog from his van to Dean’s door was short, it made Dean huff a laugh.

“Uhm, hey?”

That seemed to throw Andy for a hot second, a flash of confusion, before he patted Dean’s Baby and said, “This is a cheery ride.”

Dean stared at him. Was he serious? He had... he had stopped his van to tell Dean his car was awesome? Dean could have told him that, and it would have been easy to shout it to the world while he was at it.

“Yeah...” Dean said, wearily. “Thanks.”

The confusion was back. This time, it confused Dean too. _ What was this dudes problem? _

“Uh,” Andy said, shaking his head as if to get back on track, plaster his smile on his face as he tried to steer the conversation. “'67 Impala, right?” 

Even as weird as this situation was, Dean could talk about his Baby for days.

“That’s right.”

“Best year if you ask me. This is a  _ serious _ classic.”

“Yeah. You know, I just rebuilt her, too.”

The words were almost  _ pulled gently _ from Dean’s mouth and that’s when he knew something was wrong. He didn’t smile anymore, not even a smirk. He blinked back confusion, shook his head to get rid of internal cobwebs. It didn’t work.

Andy seemed taken aback as Dean pressed a hand to his forehead.

_ What was this? _ Dean tried to figure it out, but there was no smell, or sound associated with the suddenness of it all. The only thing he was doing was talking to Andy - 

“Hey, you okay man?”

“I think so.” 

And there the words went. Just. left his mouth.

“Seriously, dude, you don’t look so good,” Andy said, and his hand was on Dean’s arm. 

That’s when it happened.

Dean felt the electricity zap him through his jacket and shirt. It was like being plugged into a battery twice the power of Sam. It was supercharged. Overcharged. It  _ stung _ . Dean pulled back into the car with a hiss and stared at Andy in shock. He - He was like Sam. Or worse... more powerful.

“Whoa!” Andy said, pulling back and cradling his hand. He must have felt it, too.

Dean was out of his car in seconds, pulling his handgun to aim at the witch, or very least magic-capable person, in front of him.

“Stay back.” He commanded as steadily as he could. Which wasn’t much. His voice wavered like he was going through puberty, and his hands shook. There was something new in his chest, too. It sat much like a heavyweight.

“Hey, hey now. You don’t want to do this.” Andy soothed, all calm and charm and his voice was like butter now. Now that Dean had been touched by that power, now that he knew what to look for - it was  _ unmistakable _ . He shivered as his body responded to the words Andy was saying. He wanted to shoot him, but his hands dropped lower. The shot now completely non-lethal.

“Stop that,” Dean told him, tried to snarl, but even to him it sounded like a plea.

“Hey, listen, I’m not going to hurt you.” Andy promised. “Just put the gun down.”

The eldest Winchester brother didn’t believe him. His body acted like it did. His gun and his arms fell to his side. With a snarl, Dean tried to move, but it was useless. Fighting was useless.

Dean was  _ powerless _ .

Fear, unlike anything he’d felt since he thought he was going to hurt those he loved the most, flooded his system. This was the exact scenario that Dean had been dreading. A magic-capable person commanding him, and Dean being unable to respond with anything but complete obedience. It was the thing of nightmares.

And all the kid in front of him did was smile.

That made it worse, somehow. 

“There we go,” Andy said, coming closer at an alarming pace to pat him on the shoulder. “I don’t know what that was. But that’s ok. I just wanted to ask you for your car, after all.”

Suddenly his Impala seemed completely inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Suddenly, so many things did.

His face worked itself into a bright smile and he backed up with his hands withdrawn, to show he meant to no harm. “Sure thing.”

The thing is, Dean doesn’t want to obey. His mind is fighting every command, spoken or unspoken. It's like swimming towards land that was getting no closer. It was an endless, fruitless battle. It wore Dean out for every second he tried to twitch his control back. Nothing worked.

He smiled like a stupid clown and let Andy into his car, closing the door behind him politely.

Andy looked completely relaxed as if Dean had never pulled a gun on him, as if none of that had ever happened.

“Sweet, man,” Andy said, leaning out the window to touch Dean’s shoulder again. 

There was no spark this time. The connection had apparently already been made. Andy frowned but looked to Dean and asked. “Do you know what the hell that was?”

For a split second, he regained control. He couldn’t fight the smile on his face. He couldn’t break the control Andy had on his body. But apparently, he could lie about this. Though it wasn’t lying. He didn’t know.

“Nope.”

“Hmmm. Well, alright, take care then,”

“Bye!” Dean waved as Andy drove away.

It only took until Andy turned the corner for the spell to break.

Cold sweat made him shiver as he collapsed onto the sidewalk. 

_ What the hell was  _ **_that_ ** _? _

Dean couldn’t stop shaking as he sat on the curb. As he tried to understand what just happened. As he tried to wrap his mind around meeting another magic-person, another witch, that was eons ahead of Sam. That was ahead of anyone else Dean had ever met. The only saving grace was that the guy was stupid, too stupid to see what he had had right in front of him.

Sam had been right. Sam had been so  **stupidly** right.

Not caring about consequences or right or wrong or anything Dean transformed into his doggie-form and tried to get himself under control through sheer sensory overload. The sights, the smell, the taste of everything helped. It grounded him. The dumpster just around the corner let him breath again. The mother yelling at her child in the building next to him was a comfort. The air tasted sweet but stale, and Dean had to assume it was from the bakery a street or two over behind him.

: _ Sam _ .: Dean called out, miserably. : _ You were right.: _

And then he curled up next to Andy’s van and tried to not allow the world to implode around him.

Except, it already had.


	6. Everybody Clap Your Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Sam is freakin' out, and Dean is freakin' out, and nothing goes right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is part two of two, I thought I would post in the same weekend. Cliffhangers MAY be fun for me to watch people read, but I just like to get everything posted. (even though this was, like, not even close to a cliffhanger)  
> :)  
> As always, thanks for the reviews! I love reading them. Not that it makes me write faster, but it definitely makes me write MORE. Instant gratification!!!  
> Also. This is where the graphic violence tag comes into the story! So be warned.

It took Sam almost an hour to find him. 

And not because Dean was making it hard. He hadn’t moved from the spot he had collapsed at. He just didn’t have the strength.

“Dean?” Sam called again, much closer than before, as he tried to figure out where Dean was.

_ :Here.: _

Sam spotted the van as he came around the corner.

“Dean! Thank god,” Sam said, running up to him. When Dean didn’t budge an inch, he frowned even more severely than before. “What happened?”

_ :... You were right.: _ Was all Dean said as he curled up a little tighter into a ball.

“Dean...?” Sam asked.

He received no response.

Sitting next to Dean, Sam ran a hand through Dean’s fur. It was clear the familiar was in distress. Sam had never seen him like  **this** before. Not when Dad had died. Not when woman had rejected him. This was more than mopy. This was... petrified. Sam noticed then, as he came closer, Dean wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Hey, come on Dean, talk to me.”

It took a few seconds, nearly a minute, but Sam grunted as forty-fifty pounds of Dean collapsed in his lap. 

_ That was unexpected.  _ Sam thought to himself as he cradled the dog in his lap. Dean didn’t act like a dog very often, and when he did, it was to further a cause. A case, to be nice to a kid, to hunt. He’d never just up and plopped himself in Sam’s lap without, the very least, a warning. Sometimes a simple, “I’m feeling doggie” was all the warning Sam got, but it was enough.

Then Sam paid closer attention. Dean wasn’t just distressed or petrified, he was still  **shaking** . Violently enough that it was barely discernible. It freaked Sam out.

“Whoa, hey, hey Dean, you’re ok, you’re fine.” Sam soothed him almost frantically, petting his head as Dean single-mindedly shoved his head under Sam’s chin. “I’m here. I’m here, Dean. It’s okay.”

_ :He...:  _ Dean stuttered the first words he’d said in minutes, what felt like hours. _ :He controlled me.: _

Sam stiffened, clutched Dean a little tighter to him. 

“What?”

_ :At first,:  _ Dean began, and from there it just all came out like a bad dream, a nightmare, his voice picking up speed.  _ :At first it wasn’t  _ **_anything_ ** _. Nothing happened. He acted like he was the friendliest person on the planet. He smiled all charmingly. Came over to talk about... about my car. He wanted to talk about my car. Why did he even want to talk about my car?: _

“Dean.” Sam gently tried to shift him back on track. It already didn’t sound good.

_ “Then he touched my arm and - and he’s magic-sensitive at the very least, Sam, but he’s not like you.: _

Sam had thought the shivers had died down, but now the dog in his lap quaked. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here. He can’t get you, Dean,”  Sam felt utterly helpless. He had never been the one to comfort his brother about anything. Dean always seemed so untouchable. So... immovable. 

_ :... He’s stronger than you. _ : Dean finally admitted after more than a few agonizing seconds. _ :I could... I could  _ **_feel_ ** _ that. Then he commanded me to give him the Impala and I did - I didn’t even fight, Sam! I just smiled and told him he could have her!: _

Sam stiffened. Stronger than him? Now it was his turn to shiver as the implications of that one sentence laid itself on his heart.

Hadn’t Dean just finished explaining that strong-witches could force a familiar to bond with them? 

“What did he do, Dean?”

_ :He just told me what to do and I  _ **_did_ ** _ it.:  _ The shaking had stopped at the very least, but Dean’s head was lodged very firmly under Sam’s chin. _ :I knew I didn’t want to do it, but it was like my body wasn’t listening. He had total control of me.: _

Sam nodded at that, but didn’t reply. 

_ What could he say? What could he honestly, possibly say to help in this situation? _

Nothing, Sam decided. So he sat and just cradled his dog-brother and hoped that the strange looks he was getting would be quickly forgotten as a man just happy to see his dog again.

* * *

Dean was catatonic for nearly another half an hour. Sam’s arms had gone way past numb, but it was worth it to have Dean take comfort in his arms. Something neither of them had ever been completely comfortable doing as humans, as brothers, and definitely not as men.

Being a dog made Dean more susceptible to emotions and Sam tried not to take advantage of that fact.

It was hard not to when Dean was giving himself so freely into the love, though.

“The guy. I stopped him,” Sam told Dean, hoping he was listening, but not sure if he was. “I pulled a fire alarm. Everyone got out of the building. He was confused for a moment, but then he just turned right around and walked in front of a bus. I couldn’t save him.”

Sam didn’t even realize he had hugged Dean a little tighter until Dean moved slightly, and responded.

_ :He had to obey, too.: _

“... So it’s him? For sure?”

_ :Unless there is someone else doing it - I see no other way.: _

“Damn,” Sam hissed, leaning away as Dean finally started moving, finally started showing signs of actually being alive. “Damnit. I told you. The demon’s plan.”

_ :I’m starting to believe you... but Sam,: _ He stared until Sam look back. : _ You’re still not a killer. He can’t make you what you aren’t.: _

Sam wished he believed Dean, he really did.

Nearly two hours after the incident, both Sam and Dean felt well enough, human enough, to go after Andy. Dean refused to be a human for obvious reasons, but also because he was hoping that he could distract Andy so Sam could attack. Hopefully, Andy didn’t believe he could control animals, because that could put a wrench in things. Regardless, Dean didn’t even want to  **see** his own human hands.

They started by searching for the Impala.

In the process, Dean picked up on voices in the diner.

“Doctor Jennings,” Dean perked up. That was Andy’s voice. “He’s dead.”

Dean slammed into a stop.

That was... that was regret. That was confusion. That was  _ sincerity _ . So far Dean knew people couldn’t fake those emotions to his nose or ears. Hearts sped up, or their smell soured, or really any number of things. Dean was absolutely baffled how Andy was emoting them if he wasn’t feeling them... unless... he was?

“Dean?” Sam questioned, on alert.

_ :... He’s surprised.: _

That didn’t fit. In fact, that didn’t just not fit. That completely confused Dean.

“Who's surprised?”

_ :Andy.: _

“You can hear him?” Now it was Sam’s turn to look at Dean like he’s lost his mind. “What the hell does that mean?”

Dean was aware of everyone around, so he quickly stepped behind a car to transform, and continued walking next to Sam. It was a good thing he didn’t strictly need his dog-dog collar, and that the necklace worked fine, because he was ready for mental battle, at the very least. Going in looking any part BDSM fantasy was not something Dean wanted.

Then, something clicked in his brain.

“Hey,” He whispered to Sam. “Order me to only obey you.”

Sam had gone through with a lot of weird things Dean had demanded of him without question. Never had he ever agreed with something so quickly. He grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and made sure he made eye contact.

“I don’t know how this whole bonding thing works, okay, but... You only obey me, alright?” 

There was no voo-doo magic feeling. There was no spark. There was nothing to tell Dean that when Sam had ordered him to do, he would do. But Dean smiled that smug smile of his, back on his game, and shoved Sam off. 

“Got it. Bitch,”

Sam smiled, relieved. “Jerk.”

* * *

They waited outside the diner for Andy in the Impala they’d found. Dean was still shaken, he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. Which he had really been looking forward to, but that was a small consequence for figuring out Andy once and for all. And maybe even Sam’s visions. 

Dean had eavesdropped on the conversation between Andy and Tracey in the diner, but was completely baffled to come to the conclusion that Andy hadn’t compelled her to obey him. There was no sickly sweet feeling in his gut, nor a need to smile, or anything else like that. 

Andy was acting exactly how soft Dean had expected him to act.

Tracey had told him about them asking after Andy, and at least two heartbeats in the area had gone off the charts crazy at the announcement. Dean didn’t know who the other one was, but it seemed Andy had an accomplice. The more Dean heard, the more confused he was. What was with this Andy guy?

After a while, Andy came out of the diner. Alone. 

Sam and Dean made sure they were out in the open, not hiding the fact that they were staring at Andy, packing him out of a crowd. Dean felt a kind of pleased animalistic satisfaction when Andy’s heartbeat sped up. 

_Gotcha._ Dean thought.

That was, of course, when Andy straightened up and started walking straight towards them.

Sam took the cue and opened his door, getting out to lean against the car door. Dean did the same thing, except he was on the other side so he was able to lead against the roof. Andy’s heartbeat sped up, but then it mellowed. He was confident. His face wasn’t kind though, there was no smile on his lips.

“ Why are you following me ?” Andy commanded. Dean had a single second of lightheadedness before he regained his facilities.

_ The order Sam had given him worked!  _

Sam was very good at being calm in the face of certain craziness. “Well, we're lawyers. See, a relative of yours has passed aw-”

“ Tell the truth, ” Andy snarled, and Dean physically felt a blow against his entire body. It was like an echo of the tingle, but not as powerful. Shaking his head, he had to breath through his nose for a couple of seconds.

“As I was saying,” Sam continued, aware of Dean behind him. He stepped protectively in front of his brother. “We’re lawyers. Come to give you money.”

“I don’t believe you.” Andy said, and he sounded absolutely horrified. As if lying to him was a punishable offense.

“See,” Dean managed to shake his head back into something resembling human thought. “We don’t really care what you believe or not.”

Andy clearly became desperate for his weird magic to work because he grabbed Sam’s arm.

“ Tell. The. Truth. ”

Sam looked impassively at him, then at his arm, and rolled his eyes before twisting Andy against the car with a skill well practiced.

“Ouch!” Andy exclaimed. “What the hell - what are you?”

“Ahh, the old who, what, or where question.” Dean said with a smile, gesturing with his head for Sam to shove Andy into the back. “Let’s answer that when we get somewhere more private. You got him, Sam?”

And Dean wasn’t just asking physically.

“Got him.”

Andy was pushed into the very back and then Sam jumped into the car. They weren't driving very far. Just to his weird van. But Andy didn’t need to know that.

* * *

For some reason, Andy hadn’t tried a single thing to escape in the backseat, until they pulled up to his van and parked. At that point he reached forward with his hand and grabbed Dean’s shoulder.

“ Let me out. ” He commanded, and Dean could hear the magic on his voice. Like an echo or a vibration. 

Except this time, he was touching Dean and not even Sam’s mojo could protect himself from such an extension of the kid. His voice was clear and it was... it was like a siren song. He couldn’t say no. Dean was unbuckled and out of the door, holding it open for Andy before he could even blink. Sam was just as fast, though, and was out of the car on the other side fast. Andy had made a run for his van, but Sam was bigger, faster, and just all together more superior.

With Andy smashed against his van Sam let his anger out.

“Dean, you alright?” He asked as he pushed Andy a little harder than necessary for a guy of his size.

“I’m... fine?” Dean said, shaking his head to get rid of the cobwebs and the compulsion. “Give me an order wouldya?”

“Close the doors, Dean.”

The world righted itself with a sharp snap and Dean didn’t feel the all-consuming need to close the doors like he would have with Andy, but just a nudge to obey and please. He gave Sam a thumbs up as he rubbed his head, leaning against the front bumper of the Impala as he sorted his mind.

“Hey, let me go,” Andy groaned. “Come on.  Let me go .”

Sam could tell the difference between the two voices and just scoffed. “Doesn’t work on me for some reason, Andy.”

“Wh-what?”

“You can make people do things, can't you? You can tell them what to think.” Sam asked, and Dean listened for his heartbeat. Getting a solid hold on the sound. If Sam wanted to know about a lie or not, Dean would be able to tell him.

“Make people do - “ Andy laughed, which was stressed and cracking. “That’s crazy. I can’t make people do - “

“Lie.” Dean called helpfully behind his hand over his eyes.

Andy stared at him eyes wide.

“It all started about a year ago, didn't it?” Sam started conversationally, letting go slightly so Andy could breathe. “After you turned twenty-two. Little stuff at first, and then you got better at controlling it.” 

Andy gulped.

“How do you know all that?”

“One more question and I’ll tell you,” Sam didn’t wait for him to agree. “You tell that guy to walk in front of a bus?”

“Whoa, wait, what? No way! I would never tell anyone to hurt themselves!”

Dean was a little shocked to hear the truth in those words. Andy wouldn’t. It was plain in his tone, in his body language, everything. It spoke and Dean listened. Grudgingly, he shoved his hands in his pockets and huffed.

“Dean?” Sam asked over his shoulder without looking away from Andy.

“...Truth.”

“Why does he keep doing that?” Andy demanded but Sam had already let him go.

“He can tell me when you’re lying,” Sam said, shrugging unapologetically for the wince Andy made. “The same thing happened to me, Andy. My mom died in a fire, too. I have abilities. Just like you.” 

Andy froze as he rubbed his shoulder. “No way.”

“You see, we're connected, you and me,”

“You know what? Just, just,  just, just get out of here ,” Andy tried again, futility. “All right?!”

“Listen, Andy - ”

Dean felt the vision coming only seconds before Sam actually experienced it. Still he launched himself forward to hold his brother up as the full extent of a vision washed over him. He had a moment of coherency before he groaned and clutched onto Dean.

“Hey, whoa, whoah,” Dean held Sam securely. “I got ya. Relax, Sammy.”

It was useless. The vision completely took over and he was stiff as a board.

For all the good it did, it only lasted a few seconds, half a minute at most. Andy was too shocked to try and protest or run away, he just stared at Sam like he was an alien. Then the vision was over, and Dean had his hands full of Sam as he flopped uselessly for a second.

“I didn’t do anything!” Andy said, faintly, in shock.

“What’d you see, Sam?” Dean demanded, not caring for the audience. 

“A woman,” Sam said which was muffled through his hand. “A woman burning alive.”

That turned Dean’s stomach, but not the worst thing to happen yet. “What else'd you get?”

“A gas station,” Sam stuttered, pressing his hand deep into his eyes. “A woman is gonna kill herself.” 

Andy’s heart was now out of control. He smelled like he had just bathed in fear and uncertainty. For someone who could just command someone to do something for him - it was probably a wakeup call. “What does he mean, going to? What is he, what is -”

Dean rounded on him. “Shut up!” and turned back to Sam. 

It took Sam a few more seconds to organize his brain. “She gets triggered by a call on her cell.”

“Did you get a time?”

Sam shook his head, and squinted through his hands. 

“You’re sure he wasn’t lying?”

“Positive.”

“Damnit.”

Dean heard a buzzing in his ear and he turned suspicious eyes on Andy, but he just looked pale and confused. Lost. That was when the buzzing grew in tone and pitch. Dean turned to watch a fire truck come bowling down the road. It was with dread that he realized what Sam had said and the firetruck fit together perfectly.

His vision had already happened. It might have happened while they were standing there.

“I’ll be back,” Dean told Sam as he jogged after the truck. In a rather secluded area he transformed and with a burst of speed, followed much closer to the trucks. He smelled the burnt air and the sweet smell of petroleum. The smell of fried pork was strongest.

As he came on the scene, he knew it was Sam’s vision.

* * *

“No, you’re with me.” Sam told Andy as he grabbed the front of his shirt. Dean had run off, and it had looked like Andy wanted to follow. Or run away. Or... something. Sam was still feeling woozy from the vision. From the smell of smoke, from the heat of the fire, from the sharp pain in his head.

“What the hell is happening?” Andy demanded, shaking. Sam didn’t need Dean to tell him the kid was honestly lost. He hadn’t made any calls. He was innocent. 

Sam sighed. “You’re not our number one suspect anymore.”

“Wait. I was a suspect?” Andy’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “ _ For what _ ?”

“For the deaths.”

There was a pause as Andy tried to get his thoughts together.

“Wait, you mean Doctor Jenner?”

Sam hadn’t known that was his name but nodded. That was when Dean called to them across the bond. 

_ :She's dead. Burned up, just like you said.:  _ Sam wanted to ask more questions, but it wouldn’t do anything.

“And the girl who just burned up.”

“You can’t know that,” Andy said, wilting into the side of his van. “You can’t - you just had a  _ vision _ . You don’t know anything.”

He laughed hesitantly, a crazy laugh. 

“This can’t be happening to me.” Andy finally decided as he shook his head. “This can’t be.”

But it was. And sadly, Andy wasn’t crazy. It probably would have been easy on everyone involved if he were, but he wasn’t. He was just another kid whose life was fucked up by a demon. Feeling awkward after accusing the kid of killing people laid a hand on his shoulder to offer comfort.

“Did you... did you know the victims well?”

“I knew Doctor Jenner,” Andy said with a sniffle. “But I don't even know the name of the women who you saw burn.”

Sam felt bad for the guy. He didn’t ask for this. He was just... in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sam still wasn’t sure how everything was still working - since the only connection had been Andy himself - but he’d get there.

“Come on,” Sam beckoned. “Let's sit down.”

* * *

That’s how Dean found them. Sitting down in a truck in a kind of inner-town smaller-junkyard, talking. Andy was asking Sam all kinds of questions, about his powers, about the demon. 

“You just... get these premonitions about people going to die?” Andy asked, shaking his head as Sam nodded. “That’s... that’s impossible.”

“Could say the same about you.” Sam chuckled. 

Andy was just shaking his head.

“Death visions?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude. That sucks.”

Sam laughed, and that was when Dean came over to them both. He was covered in soot, looking like a reject from a hundred and one-dalmatians. He wearily observed Andy for signs that Sam was in trouble. He noted nothing unusual except for a slight uptick in his chest. Maybe he was nervous around dogs. He didn’t really say anything but plop down at Sam’s feet, leaning against him.

“Thanks,” Sam told him, as he petted his ears. In return, Dean turned his face so that it was on his knee. No small feat, either, considering he was a giant to small doggie-Dean.

“Uhm, he your dog?” Andy asked, looking behind him as if to find another stray dog or a gang of them.

Sam coughed a laugh before telling him. “Uh, yeah. You could say that.”

: _ Asshole _ .: Dean snorted but transformed back to lean more against the grate next to Sam then Sam himself. “Victim's name was - ”

“WHAT THE HELL!” Andy demanded as he fell out of the truck bed. “What - I - just - What is - “

He was making a variety of aborted hand gestures between the two of them.

“Couldn’t have eased him into it?” Sam asked.

“Ahh, he mind-controlled me,” Dean shrugged. “Made me think he was a witch. He deserved a little well-to-do pants shitting.”

Sam didn’t disagree but ignored Andy to ask. “You were saying about the victim?”

“Victim's name was Holly Beckett, forty-one, single,”

“ - Are you not going to tell me what the hell just happened here?” Andy demanded. “You just turned from a dog into a  **man** .”

“Lots of things you don’t know about the world, Andy,” Dean told him ashe rose and shook off the dirt on his jeans. “Lots.”

“Do you know her?” Sam asked Andy.

“Holly Beckett, right?... No. Not that I know of.”

“I’ll call Ash,” Sam decided, excusing himself to make the call in the corner of the yard.

While he was doing that, Andy couldn’t stop staring at Dean.

“Come on, tell me,” Andy requested. “Are you like Sam and I?”

“You guys have brain-powers,” Dean snorted. “I turn into a dog. What kind of mind-magic you think that is?”

“... So you’re not one of us?” 

“Nope.”

“Then  what are you ?”

Dean felt the command wash over him. But it seemed Sam’s command held true, and, as long as Andy didn’t touch him, he didn’t have to speak.

“Nice try.” Dean snorted with a wry smile. 

“Why doesn’t it work on you now, when it did before?” Andy asked. 

Dean shrugged, not wanting to give anything away. Then they sat in silence for a solid minute as Dean overheard Sam’s phone call with Ash.

Sam came back just then. “Apparently Holly Beckett gave birth when she was eighteen years old, back in 1983.” Dean looked at Andy who had stilled in fear. “Same day you were born, Andy.”

Sam’s brow furrowed and he had that look to his face that Dean knew well.

“Andy,” Sam asked. “Were you adopted?”

“Well. Yeah.”

Dean and Sam shared a look. That explained some things. A lot of things.

* * *

Andy became a little belligerent after they asked him why he hadn’t told them, but things mellowed out, and they unanimously decided to use his skills to get into the county’s office to find the birth certificate to confirm their suspicions. Suspicions they still hadn’t voiced to Andy.

Dean was honestly impressed when Andy just waved his hand and the guard let them in. Even more, he was surprised at how  **angry** he felt just watching Andy wave his hand like it was all magic. Like he wasn’t ruining lives with every word out of his mouth. Dean couldn’t even really muster up the necessary excitement at a literal jedi-mind trick.

It just made him remember how Andy had made him feel when he took control of his facilities.

“Got it!” Sam called, pulling Dean from his rather morbid thoughts.

“What’s it say?” Andy asked, hopping from one foot to the other. His nervous energy made Dean  _ nervous _ .

“Holly Beckett was your birth mother,” 

Andy looked wrecked, but Sam didn’t stop there. 

“Dr. Jennings was her doctor, too, I mean, he oversaw the adoption. You have a solid connection to both of them.”

“Huh. Does anyone have a Vicodin?”

Dean saw how Sam was looking at the folder. There was more.

“What else, Sam?”

Based on how Sam was frowning at the folder in his hands, Dean knew what the answer was. It was either the mother was a still alive or twins. Well. Damnnit. Did that mean since they were twins in life, they were twins in mental capacity? And... were they of the same power level, or did they differ like Sam and Andy differed?

“I... I have a brother?” Andy asked in a whisper. 

Sam paced as he read the information. He did that sometimes. Helped him think. 

“I have... I have an evil twin.”

That was probably the best way to put it. Sound way cooler than it probably was in real life, but Dean couldn't help but smile at the image of a mirror-version of Andy meeting Andy. It was humorous, until he remembered how dangerous the ability was. How it made his skin crawl.

Damnnit. Why couldn’t they just have a werewolf or a spirit or a crazy grandma who’d lost her cat in a tree?

But no.

They had to deal with demon juiced up children. Who were now demon juiced  **_adults_ ** . 

Turning away before he could get pulled down into Sam and Andy trying to look through files, Dean went for the computer. This was the twenty first century, after all, there had to be something online or in the database. He searched first through the employment database, then the county. He had a name, but no picture was showing up.

Snapping his fingers he typed in the database for the BMV. if the kid had a driver license, which everyone had one, Dean had seven himself;  then he would be golden.

“Got ‘em,” Dean said, printing off the necessary things. Nothing was on the computer screen, so he had to wait for the paper version. “Thank you BMV.”

“You got a picture?” Sam asked as he set down his folders. 

Andy even was excited to see his twin for the first time.

Dean pulled the piece of paper from the printer and looked at it. Pausing as he realized he had seen this kid before. But where? He handed the picture over to Sam, who made a face as if trying to remember too, and then over to Andy.

Andy was the one who knew immediately at first glance. It only took Sam and Dean a few seconds to follow and they all stood in shock.

Sam left to go get the car because there was now another person out in the world that could possibly control Dean through their weird mind-prowess. He was only gone a few minutes, but it was apparently a few minutes too long.

Andy cornered Dean. Seeing as how they’d been working together and basically on the same side, Dean was completely blindsided as Andy touched his arm and commanded him. “ What’s Sam’s deal ?”

“He's afraid.” Dean felt the words tugged straight from his chest. “When we came here, he thought you were a murder. It’s kind of a theme. He's afraid that he's going to become one himself, 'cause you're all part of something that's terrible.” 

Andy just blinked at him, considerably taken aback at the sheer amount of words that had come from Dean’s mouth.

“And, I hope to hell that he's wrong, but I'm starting to get a little scared that he might be right.”

It was a truth that Dean hadn’t even admitted to himself. It was so deep within him that he had ignored it. 

Andy was quick to ask the other question on his mind before Dean could regain his senses.

“ Why can you turn into a dog ?”

“I’m a familiar.” The words left Dean’s mouth with a slimy feeling. Like he’d just finished upchucking a slug. As Dean finished speaking he tugged his arm out of Andy’s grip. The spell Andy had over him was immediately broken.

Snatching him by his shirt collar, Dean pushed Andy against the nearest flat story. “Don’t you  **ever** fucking do that  _ again _ .”

“Hey, whoa, whoa,” Andy didn’t touch him even though he looked terrified. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry - I just. I just wanted to know. And you weren’t going to tell me.”

“You had no right.” Dean snarled at him. “None. Our lives are ours.”

Andy nodded, pressed even further to the wall by his own will. 

“Sorry. I - I won’t do it again.”

“You better not.”

Dean shoved him once more to get the point across before backing up. He leaned against the wall opposed Andy. 

He couldn’t believe Andy had the ability to just pull information from himself like that. It was invasive and it made him feel gross like he’d betrayed not only himself, but something deeper inside him. His skin itches and tingles. Crossing his arms made him feel a little safer in his skin, but didn’t help altogether.

“So.. familiar... like witches?”

“Shut up, Andy.”

* * *

In the car it was silent, which confused Sam. Dean was driving, Andy was in the back, and Sam was in the passenger seat. Yet, the power balance was solely on Sam’s shoulders. He didn’t know why, or how, that had happened, but it made him uncomfortable. Not wanting to bring it up, Sam just shut his mouth and let Dean drive. 

“Alright, Andy,” Dean finally broke the silence. “Tell us what you know about this guy,”

“Well, I mean, not much.” Sam was confused why Andy was so flaky now. “I... Weber shows up one day, eight months ago? Acting like he's my best friend in the world. Kinda weird, like, trying too hard, you know?”

Sam was about to ask what was with the reactions between the two of them when the light around him suddenly went fluorescent and dark. It was the beginning of a vision. Sam hissed through his teeth as he doubled over. 

“Sam?” Dean’s voice came to him from far away, and he couldn’t focus on it. There were flashes of light, sound, movement. It was dark. There was a bridge. He was  **on** the bridge. He was watching out over a car. There was a women.

She was in nothing more than lingerie. She shook in the cold air, but every step she took became more and more sure as she walked towards the edge of the bridge. Nothing could be done, Sam could only watch as the woman climbed the railing, stood uncertainly, smiled weakly, and fell forward. 

Sam snapped back into his seat of the Impala to Dean shaking his shoulder. Well. It felt like shaking. Sam realized he was the one shaking. In fact, everything was shaking.

“I need - ” Sam gasped, pushing open the door to the fresh air outside. 

Out in the night air, it was like Sam could finally breathe.

“Easy, easy.”

There was a hand onto his shoulder.

“Another vision thingie?” 

“Yeah. Give him a second.”

Once Sam had a grasp on his head, on his memories, he told the both of them what he had seen. Andy had paled while Dean had only stiffened his upper-lip and stood straight.

“We’ve got to stop this.”

People had to stop dying. This is what they were here to prevent.

* * *

The bridge was not very far, in fact, it was only a five-minute drive. They arrived early to the event which gave them plenty of time to hide the Impala and plan their attack. Since Dean was susceptible to touch, he was going to stay back a ways and only intervene through his shotgun. He was the backup, just in case something didn’t go to plan and they were overwhelmed.

Dean had to snort at that. Two against one odds, even with the chick in the mix, were pretty good. 

Andy and Sam both had a roll of duct tape to shut Weber up for good, but it was decided that Sam would go for him because there was no way he would have any kind of emotional attachment to stop him from doing what needed to be done. Andy was going to get Tracey out of range of Weber's voice.

It was a pretty foolproof plan.

Which is exactly why once it was implemented... Dean was confused how it could have gone so wrong.

Deans ears heard everything. A fly farting, a branch falling a mile away. Everything. No little thing escaped his notice, because of his hyper vigilantism. So when Weber rolled up and started talking to Tracey, in the calm voice of his - Dean’s stomach flip-flopped. His tone was the tone of someone talking to an animal to calm them, to talk them out of a corner. Even, smooth. He could have talked water into ice. To an animal, the words would have been meaningless, but Tracey wasn’t an animal. She was shaking in terror as he whispered how she was going to go and walk off the bridge because she could fly, and it would be that easy. He wasn’t taking away her fear, he was feeding it. Tracey could do nothing but sit in the seat and take it.

It wrenched Dean’s heart near sideways.

Sam and Andy snuck up ever so silently, but Dean was left listening as Weber told Tracey why he was doing what he was doing.

“I see what you see in Andy,” Weber said, whispering his poison in her ear. “I mean, he's a genius. Books he reads? He's gonna be a great man someday. But he is my family, not yours. You can't have him. You're not gonna have anything after tonight.”

Ew. The man was totally pathetic. Idolized his brother like he was some god. It was way past unhealthy and edged into something more sinister. 

What Weber held for his brother wasn’t love... it was obsession.

From there - it just happened so fast. 

Sam smashed in Weber's window and snarled at him. He held a gun to his head as Andy went to the other door and to free Tracey. 

“Get out of the car! Now!” Sam ordered coldly as if he was the one with the power to convince. 

“ You really don't want to do this. ” 

Unimpressed, Sam hit him with the butt of his rifle. “I said, out!”

Weber stumbled out as Sam dragged him.

Andy was trying to calm and soothe Tracey who was babbling that she hadn’t been able to move, why hadn’t she been able to move? She had tried. It was like she was under a spell. Andy tried to calm her as best he could while Sam tapped up his brother's mouth.

Dean couldn’t see very well, only saw Andy trying to stop Sam from doing something. A small scuffle, but enough of a distraction that neither of them saw Tracey pick up a large piece of driftwood. She was completely calm, her recent breakdown gone as she walked forward and brained Sam.

“Tracey!  STOP IT .”

“SAM!” Dean huffed, biting his tongue to stop himself from screaming out for his brother, the noise hidden behind Andy’s own call. He watched Sam for movement, but Sam was down. A hit like that... that was a knock-out. Sam would be disoriented when he came too, very little use unless Dean took care of Weber.

Cool and collected he let his purpose wash over him.

_ It was time. _ He hefted his rifle and got ready to take his own shot. Andy was in his way, though. 

Now... now the two demon-blood-brothers were talking?  _ Good _ .  _ Good _ , Dean thought as Tracey collapsed behind Andy, that gave him time. Gave him time to breathe deeply and set up his sights.

A snippet of conversation caught Dean’s ear as he tried to also listen to Sam’s heartbeat and his breathing - he’d been taken down pretty fast. Things had progressed enough that Tracey was now at the bridge edge, Andy was pleading with his brother, and Weber was mentioning - the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

“Don't be mad at me, okay?” Weber pleaded, almost sincerely with Andy. “I know, it's, it's all wrong. I didn't mean for this to happen, it's just... Tracy? She's trying to come between us.”

“You’re insane.”

Typical psychopath. Luckily it gave Dean a shot, but the wind was giving him pause. He didn’t pay attention to the conversation, but a moment or two later, he realized he probably should have.

He saw Weber stiffen before he felt anything. It was like inky tendrils digging into his brain. Where before, with Andy, it had taken touch and a whole lot of concentration - this was the complete one-eighty. It was almost effortless for the man. He reached out and Dean melted into putty in his hands. His brain was still too foggy to realize what he was doing, but even he knew surprise when he felt it. 

He’d never felt another person in his mind, not like this. Was this what Sam felt?

_ :You’re... different. _ : It was Weber's voice. In his head.

_ :I am,: _

And this time Dean was answering inside his body, his voice taken just as his mobility had been.

: Come .: Weber commanded and Dean was dropping his rifle onto his back from the strap and walking towards the nearest edge of the bridge to Weber. : And tell me why you’re different. :

Dean knew he should struggle. Knew he should fight back. He couldn’t, though. His mind was covered in a layer of both frost and goop. He obeyed as easily as he would have obeyed Sam. Weber had more magic than Andy and Sam combined, it seemed, and Dean hadn’t a clue how to fight that.

When Dean reached the bridge it was to see Sam still on the ground, unconscious and Andy standing uncertainty between Tracey and his brother. Weber, the one time Dean had met him, looked like a more baby-faced child than Andy. Now, he was bloody, split lipped, with a glint in his eye. Dean knew that look well. 

Evil. Monster. Bloodlust.

“Weber, leave Dean - “

“Shut up, or she walks.”

Andy dutifully shut his mouth but gave Dean an apologetic look. Dean understood it. Probably better than Andy did. 

There was an innocent in the way.

“What are you?” Weber asked as he walked forward, a steady stream of blood flowing from his nose. It seemed talking with Dean over a great distance had affected him.

Distantly, in Dean’s mind, he thought  **_good_ ** . 

“Let me go.” Dean snarled as he stopped just in front of Webber. His cruel eyes sharpened as he grabbed his chin harshly.

“ Tell me what you are. ”

The touch combined with a command tore Dean nearly in two. Dean imagined this must be what Sam felt. When he had his visions. A pain like a searing on a steak flayed his brain wide open. He hissed deeply, wanting but unable to clutch his head. At this close range, apparently, it was worse to be on the receiving end.

“I’m a Familiar.” Dean gasped, falling to his knees as agony shredded his mind. “Also a Hunter. You have a problem, anything's going bump in the night, I’m your guy.”

Weber stilled.

“A familiar?” He wondered aloud. “Like... a Witch's familiar?” 

Dean didn’t answer, it wasn't a question, but he had no dream or hope that Weber wouldn’t put two and two together.

“That could be... useful.”

Dean had never felt dirty for being a Familiar. He’d felt gross, he’d felt like a disappointment, and disgusted with himself - but he had never felt  **physically** dirty. Just hearing the word come from Weber's mouth made him want to slap someone, claw them in half, and piss on the remains.

Yet he couldn’t move an inch.

As a Hunter grown up in the life, raised by John, Dean knew hate. He knew it because it fueled him when nothing else would. It was the warmth in the cold that made life a little easier to live, if only for a few more minutes, each time. And Dean hated Weber.  **_He hated him_ ** .

“ Turn into your animal, ” Weber commanded and Dean was a dog.

“I wonder what would happen if I bound you to me,” Weber said, conversationally. “I don’t know how to do that, but the Yellow-Eyed man can tell me. Surely.”

Dean’s blood ran cold and his hate turned sour in his mouth. He wanted to snap, to snarl, to attack. He wanted to make this man in front of him suffer for daring to think he could take him from his brother, from his chosen master. He wanted to rip the man in half and light him on fire.

So, somehow, he  **did** .

It was as much a shock to Weber as it was to Dean. One moment he was at his beck and call, unable to disobey, unable to move - and then: freedom. The sweet feel of muscles bunching at his command, of his jaw widening as he opened his mouth to bite, and the airy feeling of actually going through with it. Dean went for his throat first, the jugular. He went for tearing and ripping. He jerked his head in an animalistic way, back and forth, side to side, erratically, once he had gained purchase on the man's throat.

If Weber had tried to fight back, he failed miserably. He, like Andy, had no physical strength. They hadn’t needed it.

Dean didn’t stop until the only thing left was mangled bits of flesh hanging onto his bones by sheer faith.  His face was gone, his throat exposed. There was a certain kind of pleasure that built-in Dean, knowing he was covered in his enemies blood, victorious. The sticky red lifeblood was warm still and had yet to cool and make his fur matted.

It was a wonderful feeling. Freedom. He almost wanted to howl at the moon.

“ _ Dean _ .” 

Sam’s voice behind him snapped Dean back from completely-doggie to doggie-with-human-understanding in a second. He blinked stupidly as the past few minutes dawned on him. Turning to his brother, he could only curiously cock his head as Sam stared at him in sheer dumbfounded awe. Or maybe it was fear, terror, disgust. Dean didn’t know. His nose was full of the smell of blood. 

He focused on Sam, though, because it was attention. His brain still more animalistic than human, and therefore couldn’t get the finer aspects of  _ being _ human.

“Hey, Dean, it’s okay, you're alright,” Sam spoke to him like he was dangerous. Which, was both amusing and curious. Sam had nothing to fear. If ever there came a time in Dean’s life when he hated his brother, he knew for certain he couldn’t kill or harm or maim him. His brother was too precious.

His master was too precious.

Animal-Dean realized Human-Dean would find that thought... upsetting.

_ :Hi, Sammie.: _

“Come here Dean,” And it wasn’t a command. Dean was done with those. It was a suggestion, though.

Dean could do suggestions.

He jogged over jovially and collapsed half in Sam’s lap, half out. The sudden exhaustion made him want to sleep, but he knew he needed to clean himself off first. Blood was always a bitch to wash off if it dried. Much better to just get rid of the clothing it was attached to. With fur, he wasn’t sure how to deal with getting rid of blood. 

Sam would help, though.

He told Sam as much. Though he didn’t even have any clothing on, Sam did. Sam who was still watching him with weary eyes. Sam who Dean had protected to the best of his ability.

Sam.

Dean shrugged mentally. Perhaps in the morning, his more human-brain would be front and center and he would understand what had gone so terribly wrong.

* * *

Andy stayed up on the bridge with Tracey, waiting for officers to show up. Sam took Dean down to the water to wash him off because as he stood now, he was a monster. A beast who had torn a man's face to ribbons. Dean had blood smeared on his face up to his neck, down his back, and his front paws. He was a literal bloody painting. And it was still dripping, too, leaving a trail behind them.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam beckoned his dog-brother towards him, stepping backward into the water to help him wash. Figuring out how much Dean was currently processing would be a chore, but one Sam welcomed. It was better to think of anything other than the blood coating his hands.

Doggie-Dean was more than happy to comply, splashing into the water and flopping down until only his head was out of the water. The river around them, even in the dark, ran red as the blood flowed off his sandy coat.

: _ Water _ !: Dean said, biting and lapping at the cool liquid. 

“That’s right, Dean.” Sam told him, scrubbing down his back. “You with me, bro?”

: _ Course _ .: Dean said, and he gave Sam a snaggle-tooth grin as he submerged his face to blow bubbles before bringing it back out. : _ Scrub _ ?:

Sam let out a sigh of relief but immediately stiffened. Dean was back to biting the water where it sparkled in the moonlight. It was puppy-like behavior. Sam half expected Dean to bolt from him in a game of chase. Pushing the unsettling thought that Dean really was more animal than human at the moment to the back of his mind, Sam set to work..

“Stay still,” Sam commanded softly so he could grab some sand and rub it over Dean’s bloody muzzle. A few more dunks and Sam almost felt it safe to allow Dean to change back. “There. How you feeling?”

:...  _ Free _ ?: Dean replied.

“Free?” Sam questioned, brow furrowed.

: _ Weber. In my head. Talked to me. Commanded me. Trapped me _ .: Dean was sounding more and more coherent with every word he said. Less and less happy, too. More Dean. : _ He... I couldn’t stop myself. Attacking him was just... instinct.: _

Sam petted down Dean’s damn fur at his neck. “It’s alright, Dean, he’s gone.”

_ :I know. I killed him.: _

Sam felt a little cold at that. How matter of factly Dean had said it. Not a hint of regret for killing a human. Not an innocent human, not a human that was directly totally threatening him; Just another monster. Sam took comfort in trying to see it all from Dean’s perspective, and then he put it into the very back of his mind.

It didn’t matter. Weber was dead. He deserved it. 

Dean was no worse for wear.

Watching him galloping through the water, chasing fish and sparkles, it was a little too happy for Dean.

He was okay... wasn’t he?

* * *

The cleanup was easy. Andy convinced all of the deputies that there was an animal attack but that the animal had run off. A hunt had been put together, but they lost all trace on the shore of the river, so that had been short-lived. Since Andy was a pretty harmless guy, they left him to his life. His... weird life. With a promise that they would be back if it was needed. And Andy knew what they would be needed for.

Then Sam and Dean were back at the roadhouse.

Sam wondered why they kept returning, but not knowing the reason, even he had to admit it was nice to see familiar faces always smiling in greeting. He also had his reasons for agreeing to come back, namely being close to Ash who was close to finding where the demon was.

But Dean... well, Sam knew his brother before the familiar-curse, and his brother hadn’t changed that much. This attraction to one place to return to -  well, actually, now that Sam thought about it, kind of fit Dean like his favorite jacket. He wasn’t a homebody, but he liked having a place to go to. Who didn’t? With Dean though, it was more about the having, rather than the place.

Which made this time when they returned to the roadhouse an oddity: Ellen had called them back.

“Hey, Ellen,” Dean greeted. Any trace from his time in the stream wiped away after a few days driving.

“Dean. Sam.” Ellen greeted them, before turning to send Jo off to get something in the basement.

That was a little odd, but Dean tried not to feel suspicious. Sam held no such promises to himself.

“So. You uh, you want to tell me about this last hunt of yours?”

Sam frowned and shook his head. 

“No. Not particularly,” Dean admitted, fingering his glass. 

Sam chimed in. “Kind of a family thing,”

“Not anymore.” Ellen told them as she plopped a handful of papers down on the bar in front of them. Dean was impressed her heart didn’t give any indication what she was going to say. “I got this stuff from Ash.” 

She gave Sam half a second to pick up the papers. Neither of them needed to look hard. It was everything Ash had given them.

“Andrew Gallagher's house burnt down on his six month birthday, just like your house. You think it was the demon both times, don't you? You think it went after Gallagher's family?”

It was usually Sam’s play to be honest, but this time Dean answered. “Yeah, we think so.”

“Dean,” Sam hissed at him in warning.

Ellen ignored their bickering. “Why?”

“Listen, Ellen,” Sam put the papers down. “No offense, but this isn’t any of your business.”

“You mind your tongue with me, boy,” Ellen was quick to turn on him. Dean felt a stirring of fear as she stood firm, unwavering. Determined. It wasn’t that he feared for his life, it was more than he feared this immovable wall in front of him. What she could do if she put her mind to it. 

“This isn't just your war, this  **is** war.  _ Our _ war.” 

Sam sat back to listen, shocked. 

Neither of them had thought of it in those terms. They’d been alone for so long, even with their father, that it was all so novel. Them against the world. The world against demons. It had always been just them... them and the stupid idiots they were trying to help.

“Ellen - ”

“No. Listen. Now, something big and bad's coming and it's coming fast, and their side holds all the cards.” Ellen was firm, like their father, as unwavering as a brick wall. “Now, at best all we got is us. Together. No secrets or half-truths here.”

There was the faintest smell of shame from Sam as he twisted the top of his bottle. 

Dean knew then and there: Sam was about to just utterly spill the beans. Momentarily, Dean tried to imagine a world where they could just talk, no secrets, but this wasn’t that world. Thankfully, this was that kind of place. He nodded to Sam, to show that he was in support of him. It wasn’t like Ellen didn’t already know about him, and even though that was probably a stupid move that paid off - this wasn’t. Sam wasn’t the only demon-power child. That was made clear with the twins and Max Miller.

“There are people out there, like Andy Gallagher, like me.” 

Ellen's eyes tracked to Dean for half a second before returning to Sam. “Like Dean?” 

“Well. Yeah,” Sam admitted. “There have been familiars as long as there have been witches. But not like us. Dean’s cursed, we’re... Um ... we all have some kind of ability.”

“...Ability?” Ellen deadpanned.

Sam didn’t look at Ellen.

“Yeah. Psychic ability.” Dean heard her breath catch. Sam continued, unable to hear as well as Dean. “Me, I have, um, I have visions. Premonitions. I don't know, it's, it's different for everybody. The demon said he had plans for people like us.”

Ellen was clearly taking things as well as she could. She didn’t blink except to ask, “What kind of plans?”

“We don't really know for sure.”

Dean noticed that Ellen was wringing a rag.

“These people out there, these psychics -- they dangerous?”

“No. Not all of them.” Dean was the one who responded for Sam. 

Sam gave him a side eye before frowning severely and answering a lot more truthfully. “But some  **are** . Some are very dangerous.”

Ellen bit the inside of her lip and looked thoughtful. 

“Okay, how many of them are we looking at?”

“We've been able to track a clear pattern so far. They've all had house fires on the night of the kid's six month birthday.” Dean offered up, feeling kind of useless. Sam looked at him funny.

“That’s not true.”

Dean had gone to drink, but stopped. “What?” He asked as he turned to Sam.

“Weber? Or Ansen Weems, or whatever his name is --” Sam sighed heavily through his nose. “I looked at his files, and there was no house fire. There's nothing out of the ordinary.”

Ellen nodded in understanding. 

“Which breaks pattern.” She scoffed. “So if there's any others like him, there'd be nothing in the system. No way to track 'em all down.”

Dean imaged how they could hunt these people down. People like Andy, like Sam, like Weber. If there was no house fire... they were just another human to the world, and to Sam and Dean. They would be anonymous. It was be as if the demon had never touched them. Dean shivered. A whole generation of people like Sam, but without any of the honor his brother had.

It was clear from Ellen’s face that she was thinking the same thing.

Fudge.

“And so who knows how many of 'em are really out there?”

Neither brother had an answer.

Jo returned then with a box of beer and a pile of towels. Without looking to her daughter, Ellen called out. “Jo, honey?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna need something a little stronger.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few things I need to go over with a fine tooth comb in the upcoming episodes, so I will actually try and stick to a month from now release. But thanks for being here!


	7. A Jo by Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam have been hanging out at the roadhouse doing research and leaving sporadically for hunts - that is until Jo gets it into her head that she needs to go on her first hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots going on. Impressed I got this out. Hope you guys enjoy!

For the next week, things are blissfully silent. Which the brothers desperately  _ desperately  _ need. There’s a poltergeist haunting a family in wyoming that Sam and Dean take care of, but other than that... business as un-usual. Dean spent most of the week as a dog, to recharge his little old familiar batteries. Though he had a funny feeling he wouldn’t need to watch himself so closely anymore. He’d rarely felt like his skin was too tight, or his brain a little more doggy than usual. In fact, he felt like he was  _ finally  _ getting a handle on everything.

Sam poured over maps and data that Ash’s computer spit out like he was trying to drink from a waterfall. Dean helping every now and then, but it was really more of a one person job. All the data connected like spiderwebs.

The nights were reserved for relaxing and hustling idiots at the roadhouse, never stepping on Jo’s toes as she played them all, while the days were a jumble of different things for Dean. Always different, every day, never the same. He would target practice with Jo sometimes, do chores around the place to earn his keep. He even spied on a man who hadn’t paid his bar-tab in a month for the two Harvelle ladies, and surprise of surprises the man had a gambling problem.

It was almost peaceful. 

Sam and Dean were coming back from their latest supply run into town for Ellen, because she had asked real nice, when Dean heard the fighting. Chairs were being pushed along floors, boxes were thrown down harshly, a glass or two shattered, and the two Harvelle ladies were going at it. Dean winced, but Sam couldn’t hear any of that.

So instead, he let Sam talk about a possible case he had picked up on.

“Los Angeles, California.”

Dean kept an ear on the bar fight and on Sam.

“What’s in L.A.?” Dean asked, tilting his head better to hear Jo yell.

_ “It’s my life, mom!” _

_ “Oh well, isn’t that just peachy.”  _

“Young girl’s been kidnapped by an evil cult. Or something.” Sam said and noticing Dean’s distraction asked. “Something you want to share with the class?”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but by that time, Sam had pulled up close enough, turned off the engine, and could now hear the girls going at it.

“Over my dead body!” Ellen yelled.

Jo yelled right back. “You’re flipping out over  _ nothing _ ! Nothing, you hear me?  **Nothing** !”

Dawning understand flashed across Sam’s face. He raised one eyebrow at Dean.

“Cat fight, got it, how long have they been going at it?”

Dean tried to think of when he had first heard them talking, before it had escalated to yelling. “Bout half a mile ago.”

Sam huffed an unhappy breath. “Jackpot.”

Yet they both opened their doors and went into the lion's den. Nobody could say they were cowards. They faced their problems, and other people's problems, head on. For better... or for worse.

* * *

They walked in with shopping bags for the roadhouse and into a screaming match that made Dean’s ears ring.

“I am your mother, I don’t have to be reasonable!” Ellen snarled.

Jo echoed the sentiment. “You can’t keep me here!”

“Don’t you bet on that,  _ sweetie _ .”

Dean winced as Jo’s body’s reaction seemed to telegraph how much boiling up rage Jo was stifling, and not well, at that.

“What? Huh? Gonna chain me up in the basement?”

“Now there's an idea!” Ellen threw her hands up in the air. “Hey, you don't wanna stay, _ don't stay. _ Go back to school.”

“I didn't belong there! I was a freak with a knife collection.”

That line resonated with Sam, and his little heartbeat skipped for a half a second. Dean knew Sam wasn't over stanford, nor did he think he would get over it anytime soon. Not even a year had passed since he had lost his future, stability, and his girlfriend. In retrospect, Dean had gained a curse and lost a father, but really the only unique thing he battled was the curse.

Sam... Sam was battling a loss Dean didn’t think he would ever understand.

“Yeah, and getting yourself killed on some dusty back road, that's where you belong?!”

Jo turned her cheek, tinged pink, and it was clear from the outline of her jaw she wanted to punch something. It resonated with Dean. Fight and fight until someone bigger, better, and stronger beat you down. It was all about the spirit of it. And Jo had spirit in droves.

“You guys are back.” Ellen turned on them, making Dean question if coming inside was a good idea. “Did you get everything on the list?” Ellen asked as she turned around, ignoring her fuming daughter.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said, handing over a box as well as the list with everything crossed out.

“Lovely.” Ellen gave them her best mom-smile. “Thanks, boys.”

Jo was still fuming and coming up with a rebuttal, but before either of them could get into it again, a couple with their two kids came in. It was clear that Jo wanted to toss them out, but she kept her trap shut as her mother settled in their ‘guests’. Ellen was using her best ‘customer’ service voice, Dean noticed, and she could switch between mother bear and waitress-cum-bartender in seconds.

Left alone with Jo, Dean and Sam both waited for the explosion.

“I’m a grown woman,” She hissed at them.

Nothing Dean thought would have been appropriate to say at that moment, so he wisely kept quiet. Which was a lot more mature than he would have been months ago. Sam was nicer. Calm and level headed, too.

“She just cares about you, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” Jo snorted at them both. “No thanks.” Then she was off to go start the kitchen up to cook for their patrons.

Dean and Sam both shrugged at each other. They’d tried.

The phone rang and that stopped Jo leaving. The conversation was quick and Dean didn’t know what this ‘Preacher’ guy was talking about, but he sounded like a nice enough guy. It was when Jo was done with the phone call that she made the loop back towards the two of them, this time with a folder in hand.

“Three weeks ago a young girls disappears from a Philadelphia apartment.” She offered Dean the folder. He just looked at her, waiting for her to say more. Only she didn’t. WIth a smug smile she told him. “Take it, it won’t bite.”

“Usually my line,” Dean said with a wry smile back, but went ahead and took the folder from her. It was sizable. At least ten or twelve pages of really good content. Skimming through, leafing the pages back and forth Dean listened to Sam ask.

“So, this girl?”

"Right. This girl wasn't the first.” Jo made sure to point to the picture stapled to the front. “Over the past eighty years six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes. Only happens every decade or two so cops never eyeball the pattern. So we're either dealing with one very old serial killer, or —”

“Who put this together?” Dean asked. The folder smelled only of the two of them, Ash and Jo, but he had to ask. This was good work.

Jo seemed more pleased with the interruption than angry. 

“I did it myself.”

Dean hmm’d instead of telling her how impressed he was. In truth, he hadn’t thought she had it in her. He knew she had spirit, and fight, and all the things necessary to be good at something - but he hadn’t thought she had the necessary moxy to bite down and hold on through the whole bumpy process. The folder, at the very least, told him she knew how to sink her fangs deep.

“You gotta admit, Dean,” Sam said, nudging him. “We’ve hit the road for a whole lot less.”

Ellen snuck up behind Sam and Jo, but Dean always knew where people were now. It was a gift more than a curse, though sleeping had started becoming a little labored now that he was interpreting the sounds correctly.

“Good.” Ellen said, making both Sam and Jo jump. “You like the case so much, you take it.”

Aware of the people in the roadhouse, Jo hissed. “ **_Mom_ ** !”

That was went Ellen put her foot down.

“Joanna Beth, this family has lost  **enough** .” She snapped.

Dean and Sam were taking the high-road and staying out of family business, but they knew their father would never have reacted this way. As soon as they had been old enough to hold a rifle right, not shoot each other when their backs were turned, and had their first supervised kill under their belt - it had been nothing but Hunting. No sir, yes sir, and obedience. There was no room for whishy-washy feelings or for hesitation. For Dean, it had been life. For Sam, a prison. Dean couldn’t even imagine what it would have been like as a woman... Their dad wasn’t sexist, but he had a hard time imagining his father pushing a daughter to the same lengths as he had pushed them.

So Ellen was completely justified.

Family came first.

Ellen was trying to get across to Jo her feelings, the emotions, but it was hard. Jo had yet to learn.  

“And I won't lose you too.” Ellen’s lip wobbled the tiniest bit. “I just won't.”

Jo was unmoved by the display, scoffing and stomping away. It reminded Dean of Sam when he refused to go hunting with him and their father. When he wanted to study, and write, and learn and be  _ normal _ . That word still ringing in a horrible way for Dean. Normal. Boring. It reminded him of a time when Sam had a choice to say no, rather than being roped into something. Reminded him so strongly that he followed her heartbeat the entire way to the kitchen.

And Dean knows they will see her in Philadelphia.

* * *

Sam was driving, Dean was in his dog form, and they were about half a day's drive in. They had another day of travel before they reached the town they wanted. In no hurry to really look over the files, they were in the back, and Dean was staring out the window, lost to his thoughts.

“You’re pretty quiet,” Sam observed. 

Dean weighed his thoughts on his mind for a second before deciding, fuck it, and telling Sam.

_ :You ever think about what dad would've done if one of us had turned out to be a girl?: _

“Wait - what?” Sam snorted. “No. Why would I think about that? Matter of fact, why are you?”

_ :Just thinking. Of Jo and Ellen.: _

“And?”

_ :Well. You think if you’d been a girl Dad would have let you just run away to college, to protect you?: _

Sam scoffed and that was enough of an answer for Dean. “Protect me? You think dad was sexist?”

_ :I  _ **_think_ ** _ he was a lot of things... but I had a better relationship with him than you did and even I can’t say...: _

“I guess it’s possible... what brought this on? Jo and Ellen arguing?”

_ :Yeah... but how they argued I guess. It reminded me of when you and Dad used to go at it.: _

Sam stiffened up a bit. “How’d you mean?” Dean could tell Sam knew, but wanted to hear him out. Give him the benefit of the doubt and all that jazz. Dean had been talking a lot more about their family, his feelings, his place in the world, ever since he had been bitten. Sam, clearly, appreciated it.

_ :You both are stubborn.:  _ Dean said, realize he had a lot to say on the subject. _ :Won’t back down. Your way is right. Your way or the highway. You yielded more often, but that was because you were young... You followed orders, too, but in life or death situations... We were good soldiers.: _

“I guess.” Sam replied, a lot less convinced than Dean.

But Dean wasn’t done.

_ :If I would have been in any other family - would I have reacted like Jo?: _

“With Hunting?”

_ :With  _ **_anything_ ** _ ,:  _ Dean snorted.  _ :Hunting, sports, college. Being, I don’t know,  _ **_normal_ ** _... I’m not the college type of guy, like Jo isn’t the college girl. I need action.: _

Sam’s fingers drummed on the wheel of the car. “I think you would have done just fine.”

Dean remembered times in his life that backed Sam up. When he’d been in the half-way home for kids after trying to steal a box of cereal for Sam. His first kiss. Those faint, faint memories of his mother’s hugs, kisses, and a warm home to call his own. And then he remembered things that anchored him to  **this** life. His first kill. His first beer. The skills he’d gained with a knife, a sword, a gun, a shotgun, and any manner of sharp poking things. John being proud of him. Bathing in the blood of Weber...

John being disappointed.

_ :... Maybe,:  _ Dean said, as he resituated himself on his seat to face away from Sam, signaling he was done talking. Sam took it with all the grace of a driver with half his mind on other things. Now he had something else to chew over, too. Dean thought of the question. If he would have done fine in a normal life.

He couldn’t picture it.

_ But probably not. _

* * *

The apartment building was old, rackety and smelled more like mildew and mold than wood. It was a miracle nothing had fallen into complete disrepair. At least, Dean saw all these things, but Sam would be none the wiser until he told him. On the outside it was newly painted with a lobby that didn’t look half bad. It reminded Dean of everything wrong with the world. How such evil could hide in plain sight.

They reached room 6D, which is where the missing girl lived, and jimmied the lock. 

Once inside, Dean tried to parse through all the smells. It was definitely a woman’s apartment. The floral perfume hung around the place like a layer of dust covering everything. There was food on the table, too, just fruit though. Most everything had been cleaned and there was no actual signs of life, or anyone had lived there. The place had been cleaned. 

Just down the hall, in the lobby, he heard two people talking. It sounded like young woman and another man. If Dean didn’t know better... he would say one of the voices was Jo’s.

_ Well _ ... she moved fast, Dean thought. Must have been right on their tail. 

“I feel kind of bad,” Sam said as they entered the apartment, pulling the EMF detector from his pocket. “Snaking Jo's case.”

“Eh, we’ll see.” Dean said, picking up a vase and extending all his senses as much as he could. “She could surprise us.”

Sam was already on the other end of the girl's apartment, but turned back. “What does that mean?”

Dean kept silent. 

“Dean...” There wasn’t any kind of command laced in his voice, but Dean yielded.

“She probably followed us,” Dean admitted at last. “I think I hear her, but I don’t know her voice, or smell, or heartbeat that well yet.”

“Jo’s... Jo’s here?” Sam asked, spinning around as if she was right behind him. 

“Probably.” Dean said, sniffing the air.

“Ellen’s going to kill her.”

Sam was right, of course, but Dean kept an ear out. 

Just then, Sam’s EMF device cranked out a loud string of beeps over a lightswitch and Dean perked up. He followed Sam over to the wall and took a sniff. 

“What's that?” He asked.

It smelled...  _ rank _ . Dean’s nose crinkled up. Like goop, dirt, and blood. It had that smell of spirit, too. Kind of airy.  There was something seeping out of the switch. Sam touched it and looked a little baffled at it. But Dean didn’t. Dean knew what it was.

“Holy crap,” Dean said, as he scraped at it. “That's ectoplasm.”

As he sniffed deeply, he realized there were traces of blood, too. It was hidden underneath the smell of everything else. Well cleaned, barely there. That didn’t sound like a spirit... Kidnapping was more a human crime. 

“Blood,” Dean said, pointing to the source of it, where most of it was. The vent. 

“Great,” Sam said, sarcastically. “So. Not just some spirit...”

“Nope.” Dean agreed.

“Ugh. We gotta find this creep.” Sam scoffed, wiping his hand off.

Dean’s ears perked up as he heard the couple outside in the lobby coming their way. “Hey. We got company.”

Both of them stuffed what they had in their pockets and left the room. Though they would need to come back and go through all of the apartment, starting with the vent, but they needed to move now. The door closed on their heels just in time for a man and one young woman they knew very well to come around the corner. Dean gave his biggest, brightest, most shit eating smile as he opened his arms. 

“Honey!”

Oh, Jo was going to regret following them. He would make  **sure** of that.

* * *

Jo was startled for half a second before returning the smile with grace. She knew a hustle when she saw one, and she knew how to play her parts as well. It was the making of a good Hunter, but Dean wasn't about to tell her that. She made her way to him and wound her body around his like a snake.

“Hey sweetheart,” She turned to the man she had been with. “This is my boyfriend Dean and his buddy Sam.”

“Good to meetcha.” There were handshakes all around. “Quite a gal you've got here.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Dean said with a smile, and considering the trouble she’d caused, gave her a smack to the ass. Which made her jump an inch. Her smile turned a touch hesitant, teeth clenched.

“Were you checking out the apartment?” Jo asked.

“You betcha.” Dean smiled. “Looked good enough for us.”

The man, the landlord it seemed, startled. “How did you get in?”

Oh right. The landlord probably would have had to have the keys to get into the apartment, Dean realized sheepishly.

“It was open,”  Dean shrugged with a harmless smile.

The man looked unconvinced, but also not too terribly torn up about it. They were looking at the apartment, after all. He’d get a chunk of change from this if it killed him. Which it had probably killed the girl who had lived in it before.

“Now, Ed, um, when did the last tenant move out?” Jo asked. She played the part of curious to-be-tenant very well. 

“Oh, about a month ago.” Ed looked angry, arms crossed and everything. “Cut and run, too. Stuck me for the rent.”

His anger would have been understandable if the girl in question hadn’t been kidnapped and probably killed, Dean thought to himself. Dean scoffed at how small minded some people could be. Money, women, power. Fat lot it did when vampires, werewolves, and all manner of monsters crawled about in the night.

But Dean said none of this. Only smiled and nudged Jo.

“Well,” At his prompting she said. “Her loss, our gain! 'Cause if Dean-o loves it, it's good enough for me.”

“Oh sweetie,” He said, playing his part like a fiddle. 

Though it was a  **new** role. Dean and Sam could play brothers, partners, dog and person, and, occasionally, father and son convincingly - but lovers was completely out of the question. Except that one time, with the house, but they’d just let people think what they wanted then. No parts to play.

Then Jo pulled a wad of cash from her purse and handed it over to Ed. 

Dean and Sam were both shocked. That had to be at least five hundred bucks in tens and twenties. Ed had probably already shared the price for the unit, but both of the brothers were baffled when she just handed it over. It was a rookie move. Showing your hand too early.

She didn’t know what a bad move that was, and just smiled. “We’ll take it.”

* * *

They took a few minutes to bring in all their stuff. Jo just had the backpack on her back and a purse, but she’d managed to pack a shit-ton. Sam and Dean just had their overnight stuff, and would bring in other things when necessary.

“Flip for the sofa?” Jo asked as she sat down at the table.

“Your mom is going to kill you,” Dean said conversationally, sitting down across from her. “She doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”

“... She thinks I’m going to vegas.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah,  _ right _ .”

“You honestly think she bought that?” Dean asked, amused. He’d known the second Jo had given them the case files that she wasn’t about to just let it all go. She had been asking advice, their opinions. Her mother had made it an impossibility to go through with her own agenda, but that didn’t stop her.

If her mother didn’t know before the day was out, he’d eat his own shoe... as a human.

“I’m not an idiot.” Jo snapped. “I had Ash leave a credit card trail to the casinos.”

Dean and Sam were both marginally impressed, but knew Ellen would see through some part of her plan.

“You don’t look like the betting kind,” Dean told her, with a chuckle. “Ah and, you know, you shouldn’t lie to your mother.”

“Getting all high and mighty there, Doggie-Dean?” Jo shot back.

Dean rolled his eyes, and decided to bite right back. “Well, I never lie to  _ my  _ mother.”

Jo stilled, her fingers on her blade as still as death. Her heartbeat skattered. Breathing stuttering. Dean felt bad, momentarily, that he’d said such a thing. But it was his mother he was talking about, what right did she have for being upset? It didn’t make sense to Dean, but whatever.

Sam wisely changed the subject before it could get any more awkward. “Uh, where’d you get the money, Jo?”

“Working at the roadhouse.” Jo said, looking away.

Dean snorted at her. “Hunters don’t tip well.”

“They aren’t that good at poker, either.” She snapped back, but there was a lot less fire.

That was when Dean’s phone rang. Jo seemed to know, instinctively, who it was. He answered it on the second chime with a “Yeah.”

“ _ She with you? _ ” Ellens voice came loud and clear over the phone. 

Ah, it was always nice being right. He gave Jo a look as he replied, “Oh, hey Ellen,” Jo’s eyes widened and she made an abortive gesture at her throat. Clearly telling him to shut up. 

“ _ She left a note she's in Vegas. _ ” Ellen's voice came over the phone wry. “ _ I don't believe it for a second. _ ”

Little stupid. Should have had the talk face to face, Dean thought, and smiling a little cruely at Jo, he mouthed, ‘I’m gonna tell her.’ Jo muttered a few choice words at him, he let them flow over him, and it was a back and forth bickering for a few seconds. Dean didn’t think Jo should be here, that was true, but who was he to tell anyone how to live their life?

He prefered being a dog, for heaven's sake.

“ _ Dean? _ ” Ellen asked.

Jo made a small pleading noise. Gah. He was such a sucker.

“Haven’t seen her.”

And Jo absolutely wilted with relief. 

_ “You sure about that?” _

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Ellen made a noise like she didn’t believe him. 

_ “Well, please. If she shows up, you'll drag her butt right back here, won't you?” _

“Absolutely,” Dean lied, staring straight at Jo.

“Okay. Thanks, hon.”

Dean hung up before there could be further interrogation. Jo smiled at him conspiratorially and that did not make Dean feel better. In fact, it made him feel worse. 

_ Oh god. Was he responsible for her now? _

* * *

Dean’s nervous habit was pacing. Jo had a nervous habit of twirling and tossing knives. So they both did what they needed to do to calm themselves. Dean knew she was adept throwing her knives, but this was just showing off. And she knew it was. Still, what was Dean going to say? So he didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes and asked her questions about her files and folder.

“This place was built in 1924.” Jo answered his question about the lay of the land. “It was originally a warehouse, converted into apartments a few months ago.”

“What was here before?” Sam asked, as Dean started pacing all over again. 

“Nothing,” Jo said, flipping through some blueprints. “Empty field.”

“Hmmm, so, most likely scenario, someone died bloody in the building, and now he's back and raising hell.”

“Would be,” Jo agreed with Sam. “But I already checked. Most violent death in the past century was a janitor who brained himself in a shower stall.”

Seemed like she knew what she was doing, but Dean took it on himself to check. 

“Checked police reports? County death records? - “

Jo cut him off before he could ask more. “Obituaries, mortuary reports and seven other sources.” She gave him a look as if  **daring** him to challenge her. “I know what I'm doing.” 

Dean highly doubted that. “I think the jury's still out on that one. Could you put the knife down?”

Jo’s face lit up triumphantly as she delicately caught her knife by the blade and set it down just as carefully. 

“Okay!” Sam came in between the two of them. Not physically, there was a table, but he got both their attentions. “So, uh, it's something else, then. Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it?”

“We found ectoplasm and blood,” Dean told Jo, pointing out the vent. “So it’s definitely a spirit.” 

“You found blood?” Jo demanded. “Just blood? And what? That was it?”

Dean snorted at her. “No. But the ectoplasm tells us its a spirit and the blood tells us it got violent.”

“You should check out the blood a little more,” Sam told Dean.

“You’re right.” 

Jo jumped as Dean turned into a dog and went straight for the vent. All he smelled when he stuck his nose into the edge of the vent was blood. Which was useless. He kept sniffing for a few more seconds to get the more subtle hints of grossness. A rat had been in the vent, some kind of mold, and ectoplasm. There was also something... just out of eyesight. His dog eyes weren’t that great.

He was back as human-Dean and reaching forward into the vent, trying to reach for anything. He had been mistaken though, and there was nothing in the vent. That didn’t mean there wasn’t anything in any of the other vents. 

“Blood and ectoplasm, but that’s it.” Dean then confirmed.

“So back to the drawing board.” Jo said. “Well, we've got to scan the whole building. Everywhere we can get to, right?”

“I’ll stay and do some more research,” Sam said, setting up his laptop. “No offense, Jo, but I’d feel better if I just took a look.”

“Fine by me.” Jo said, but Dean knew she didn’t appreciate all the questions.

“Perfect,” Dean stated. “You and me, we’ll take the top two floors while Sam here does his stuff.”

“Wouldn’t we move faster if we split up?”

“Faster? Sure,” Dean conceded. “But this isn’t a negotiation. You’re greener than a lamb.”

It only took a few minutes outside the apartment for Jo to start railing on Dean.

“Wouldn't this go faster if you were in your dog form?” Jo asked as she held out her EMF reader and Dean just tried to keep his nose and ears open.

“My nose is just fine how it is,” Dean said. It was the truth. Being a dog would just be an inconvenience with her. “And you’re not Sam.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jo demanded.

Always getting so antsy. Another point against her being a good Hunter. She was racking up just as many as she had put up.

“We wouldn’t be able to communicate.” Dean reminded her. 

“... Ah. Yeah. I guess that would do it.”

There was a blush to her cheeks. Genuinely embarrassed for calling him on nothing more than her own small-mindedness. She needed to get a reality check.

They continued on down the hall, Dean close so he could monitor Jo’s own reading of the EMF. 

“So - are you gonna buy me dinner?”

That honestly pulled Dean up short. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re going to tail me this closely, it's only decent you buy me dinner first.”

“Oh, that's hilarious.” Dean shouldered past her. “You know, it's bad enough I lied to your mom, but if you think I'm letting you out of my sight... You’ve got another thing coming.”

“I’m not some kid, Dean,” Jo snarled.

That... that pushed a button in Dean’s chest he didn’t even know was soft. Kids were not the only casualties of this senseless war against all the evil in the world. They were just the stupidest, the innocent, the poor.

“Then  **act** like it.”

That shut Jo up. And it was quiet for another few seconds before Dean just couldn’t help himself. 

“Also, don't know if you've noticed, but you're kind of the spirit's type.”

Jo was way too smug. “Exactly.”

That threw Dean for a loop.

“You want to be bait?” Dean demanded.

“Quickest way to draw it out and you know it.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Damnit it all. Jo was about as mature as a kid in a candy shop. Dean had been willing to give the benefit of the doubt, she’d done good ground work, but Jo had obviously been under some very misguided notion that he  _ agreed _ with her in any capacity being here. She was too young. She was a novice. How he had even really  **thought** having her here would be a good idea?

“Ah.” Dean humm’ed, walking farther ahead faster. 

Jo was sharp, at least, and picked up on his distaste. “What?”

“I’m so regretting  _ this _ .” He gestured to her and then the hallway to get his point across.

Jo stomped to a stop. “You know, I've had it up to here with your crap. At first, I thought you weren’t that bad, but I was clearly wrong.”

“Excuse me?” Dean demanded. 

“Your chauvinist crap.” Jo told him, way off base. “You think women can't do the job.”

Dean was honestly speechless for a second before he chuckled. 

“You got it all wrong, Sweetheart,” Dean turned to face her. Turned and made sure she was paying attention to his words. “This ain't gender studies. Women can do the job fine. I know five off the top of my head that could do this with an arm tied behind their back.” Jo didn’t looked like she believed him. “ _ Amateurs _ on the other hand,  **can't** .” 

Dean made sure to stress he had no problems with her, just with the fact she didn't know her head from a hole in the sand. But Jo had a problem with authority. Most Hunters did, really, but she wasn’t a hunter. She was an amateru. A kid. And Dean was realizing his more blase attitude had not helped her.

“You have no experience.” Dean continued on, sniffing deeply as he tried to divide his attention. “What you do have is a bunch of half-baked romantic notions that some barflies put in your head.”

“Hello mother,” Jo mocked.

“You say that like its a bad thing.” Dean grumbled under his breath. “Let me just tell you...”

He trailed off. Realizing anything he had to say wouldn't be received well. He snorted and shut up.

“What?” Jo snarled at him. “Go on. Hit me with your best shot.”

Arrogance. Hunters were usually the most arrogant of the lot, but also because they were good at what they did. Jo hadn’t earned that right. She hadn’t earned that right to be included in the best of the best, in the hall of fame right up there with people like his father, and the vampire hunters struck down too young, and any number of people. She was boasting of accomplishments she’d yet to earn.

Dean snapped. This was more than just about her.

“I don’t get you.”

“Oh?” Jo asked, cool as a cucumber, thinking she’d caught him on his sexism, or something. “Why’s that?”

Dean stopped then. Turned to her so they were eye to eye. Human to human.

“Fine. You want the truth. I guess you deserve that much.” He took a deep breath and then went  _ off _ . “Jo, you've got options. No one in their right mind  _ chooses  _ this life. My dad started me in this when I was so young...” Dean faltered for a second as he realized how true his next words were. “I  **wish** I could do something else. And now... now that I’m a familiar - you really think there is any way for me to live? Being what I am?”

That was the first time he’d ever said that to anyone. That was the first time he’d ever spoken the words, even to himself. Dean had been lying to himself for too long, apparently, that this had just become his norm. This, hunting and lying to himself about what he wanted, but could never have - it was the truth. 

Dean was a Hunter. Dean did not exactly want the title.

It brought to mind when he’d been a kid, willing to do anything to help their father out on hunts. He’d clean guns, organize files, reorganized the knife collection and generally do just about anything to be close to his father and absorb by osmosis if nothing else things he needed to survive in his father’s life. His first kill had been a success and he’d been proud, but even he knew at fourteen that killing people, killing anything, destroyed a part of you if you let it.

And sometimes, destroyed parts of you little bit by little bit until there was nothing left of the before-you.

Dean wondered for a split second if younger-Dean would have approved of him now.

He’d like to think yes.

He knew not.

* * *

“But you love the job,” Jo said, in protest.

Dean had to smile at her. There was a fine line between love and what he had. He enjoyed his job. It was the only thing he knew. Love though, love was a stretch. He loved so few things in this world, and most of them had been taken from him. By death or by the curse or by some combination of things. What he had left was Sam, Bobby, women, and the hardest liquor he could take shots of... and Hunting.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “But I’m a little twisted. And I don’t just mean the curse, part.”

“I may not be cursed like you... but don’t you think I’m a little twisted, too?”

Dean didn’t want to laugh outright in her face, but honestly - nobody was quite so twisted as when they’d killed for the first time. Nor were they so twisted when they beheaded someone. Jo was a butterfly compared.

“How many have you killed?” Dean asked, catching her off guard.

“... This would be my first.”

“I’d say you’re verging on twisted, then, but you’ve got a ways to go,” Jo gave him a look like she’d sucked on a lemon. Dean sighed. “Jo, you've got a mother that worries about you. Who wants something more for you. My advice? Don’t give up that up. Don’t give up on something now that you may not have later.”

Jo wisely shut up, but Dean didn’t know if he got through to her. Didn’t know if the silence was from her anger at being talked to like a child or actual consideration. Dean didn’t he didn’t really care right about the same time the vents kicked on and he smelled what they’d been looking for.

“Ugh,” Dean groaned, covering his nose. 

“What?” Jo asked, shining the light in every which direction.

“Blood and ... something else.” Dean couldn’t quite put is finger on the smell. It was fresh, though, and that was what was throwing him off. Fresh and old smells sometimes had a wide variety of differences. He knew he had smelled it before, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was in the past year. He might have smelled it when he was a human and knew it through his human nose. 

There was also a sound that rattled through the vents. He couldn’t pinpoint which one, which was really aggravating.

Jo took advantage of his distraction with the smells and sounds to crouch by the vent and scan it with her EMF reader. It lit up like a Christmas tree. 

“Dean, lookit this.”

The familiar shoved the sounds and smells into the background as he crouched next to Jo. Only he got an answer for the mystery smell: fresh ectoplasm. It was pungent in a way that the old ectoplasm couldn’t even try and mimic. It must lose its potency over time.

“Mazel tov, you just found your first spirit.”

Jo narrowed her eyes. “Why does it smell like a gas leak?”

Dean cocked his head and tried to answer, but came up with nothing. “Shit if I know.” He ended up telling her as he pulled out a multi-tool from his belt. The vent grate needed to come off so he could figure out why the blood seemed to be so... fresh. The lady had disappeared a month or so ago.

“Here,” Dean said, handing over the grate as he got down on his side to see into the vent. He smelled more than he saw, which didn’t help anything. But he did see a bump in the dark and quickly shimmied forward to reach inside. It was a tight space and he could only fit in up to his shoulder, but that almost wasn’t enough.

_ Darn it, _ Dean mumbled to himself as he reached and reached - 

“There’s something here.”

\- And there. There it was.

It felt slimy, hairy, and flat. When Dean pulled it out his stomach dropped. Yeah. The woman was most certainly dead.

“Somebody's keeping souvenirs.” He told Jo as he showed her the clump of scalped flesh and hair.

It was the first time Jo had looked pale and sick. It was the first time she smelled it, too.

* * *

They didn’t have to flip for the sofa, Dean took it. Like the damn gentleman he was. Though he didn’t sleep all that well. Kept up by Jo’s heartbeat, her breathing, which was so different from Sam’s. Not to mention the subtle swoosh of a knife being constantly thrown in the air. Her nervousness was contagious, as well.

Sam slept like a baby in the other room, oblivious to Dean’s thoughts, conditioned to sleep through a hurricane but to stab the first thing to touch him in the morning, because it wasn’t just Jo keeping Dean up.

It was reality. His reality, more specifically.

He was about due for another life-crisis. Even just a small one. 

Jo being with them on this hunting trip had brought some things into sharp relief. It had been a long time since he’d had to look behind himself constantly worried over a younger kid getting into trouble, or tripping over their own feet, or being eaten alive. When Sam had been younger they had left him alone to do his studies and whatever else he’d wanted to get into until he was much older, knew exactly how to do what was required of him, and how to wait for them to give him the kill shot. And he had never been all that gungho about hunting, like their father and Dean had been. Sam had always been about the books, which was useful, but had led to them being estranged through thought alone.

It had changed, of course, when Jessica had died. No longer was hunting an obligation to find their father, no longer was hunting something Sam was doing for a semester before going back to college, but one of revenge and rage and sweet, sweet relief. Sam had changed, yet he also hadn't. This side of him had always been inside of himself. Just hidden, waiting for tragedy. It was like staring into the mirror image of their father. 

And Dean wondered...

He wondered if Jo was like staring at a mirror image of him when he’d been younger.

He wondered what the world would have been like had he had someone so vehemently opposed to him hunting. 

He wondered what his mother might say, if she could, about what her two boys had gotten themselves into.

He wondered what the world would have been like if Sam hadn’t been born, if his father hadn’t said those damning, stupid words of his, about killing his brother before his brother could become ... something.

He wondered what it would all be like if he had never been bitten.

With a sigh, Dean sat up. If he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, at least he should be able to get something accomplished. Research could be done at any time, and, curiously enough, the breakthroughs usually happened between midnight and four.

“You should get some sleep,” Dean said as he plopped next to Jo, scaring her into flipping her knife tip-first into the table.

“Jesus!” She exclaimed as she turned to him. “Give a girl some warning.”

Dean ignored that.

“You come up with anything?”

Jo took a moment to get her heartbeat back to normal. “Just going over everything. Nothing new...”

She didn’t once stop flipping her knife. Dean hadn’t paid much attention to her habits, just noticed them. Looking closer he realized just how small the knife was. It looked iron, at the very least, but that was it.

With a sigh he pulled out one of his larger hunting knives. “Here,” He said as he handed it over. “Something with a little more substance than that pig-sticker.”

Jo’s scent changed to a bewildering one of smooth-happiness, a fluttering kind of anger that simmered, and a thing Dean couldn't put his finger on. With a straight face, a sardonic smile, she handed him her knife in exchange for hers. She used a practice hand to flip his knife and test the weight. She wouldn’t find any discrepancies. It was one of his good knives.

As she tested the knife Dean looked at the small poker in his hands. As he twisted it, the light caught just right and he saw the letters engraved in it:  _ W.A.H. _

“William Anthony Harvelle.” Jo said as her twirling managed to take on a much more subdued tone. 

_ Well, shit _ . Dean felt kind of like a dick for making fun of her knife, but he stood by his statement. 

“What do you.. what do you remember about your dad?” She asked, suddenly. Dean stiffened. “I mean, what's the first thing that pops into your head?”

And like that, he was brought back to months ago. Seeing his father again. His dad pulling a gun on him, juxtaposition with his dad hugging him, telling him to protect Sam. His face smiling, his face frowning. That scowl as he looked at the wall of maps, and strings, and pins, and photos. How he looked in the morning, always the first one up, a cup of coffee as he sat looking through the local newspaper, and then later in life the computer.

Dean didn’t have an answer, not really. Everything his dad was, and everything he wasn’t... it all didn’t matter.

“Oh come on,” Jo said, thinking he was being coy. And Dean couldn’t pull up anything. His mind was full of everything but something to describe his father as. Jo sat and waited. Dean wasn’t affected by it. 

He repeated. “You should get some sleep.”

She snorted at him. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” 

Typical arrogance. 

“The rate you’re going, shouldn’t be long.” Dean told her as he pulled over some of the papers that were spread out. Jo was now staring at him, clearly tired but now verging on anger. Sleeplessness seemed to make her more and more irritable.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“You’re no good to anyone, least of all yourself, if you don’t take care of yourself.”

Any good Hunter knew you didn’t let sleep or the lack-thereof affect you. It just proved Dean was right. Jo wasn’t any Hunter.

With a snarl, born for exhaustion and anger, Jo opened her mouth to retort - 

Which is when Dean heard the scream. It was softer than he would have imagined a scream born of fear, terror, and pain - but it was a scream nonetheless. It had to be one, maybe two stories above them, to the far left of the hall. Dean bolted upwards as soon as he heard the first screech. Then it just kept going on.

“Dean?” 

Dean waved her away as he shot for the door. Jo was inches behind. There was no time to play nice. There was only time for action. When he came to the stairs, he took them two by two. He stopped only briefly on the second floor before heading to the third.

On the third floor Dean was hit with only the hint of ectoplasm - but that was enough.

He stalked down the hall sniffing every door. When he wasn’t getting enough of the scent after going up and down the hall not once, but twice. Frustrated he transformed into his dog form and put nose to the grindstone. Jo had tried to help, but she couldn’t go knocking on doors or smelling for things. And she had forgotten her EMF reader. So she left part way only to return with Sam. 

“ - went running.” Jo was saying as they came up the stairs.

Sam pulled up short as Doggie-Dean didn’t relent on sniffing the hallway. “Dean what’s up?”

_ :I heard a scream.:  _ Dean explained. _ :The spirit got another one. I’m close - right here!: _

Finally he got a lead. The apartment was on the far end of the hall, where the stairs were, right next to Dean and Jo.  

He transformed in a blink. “This one.” He said as he jiggle the doorknob. 

It was open.

Sam pulled out his gun too. Jo, unfortunately, just had her knife. Didn’t stop her from coming with, but she was a liability they were just going to have to deal with. Sam and Dean both made sure to take lead, keeping Jo behind them. Until they walked right into the apartment. The empty apartment.

“You sure this the place?” Sam asked, as he walked around the table.

“My nose doesn't lie.”

And it hadn’t. Underneath the cracked ceiling, in front of the kitchenette, Dean found fresh ectoplasm. The freshest it had ever been. It had a repugnant smell. Like burnt candles, dirty water, mold, and mildew. It  **was** dirty. Dean crinkled his nose as he shook his head, trying to clear it. Ugh. It was like smelling vampires. Once he’d gotten close, that was all he could smell. 

“She was here,” He said gesturing to the floor. “The spirit took her.”

And there was no other trace of her.

* * *

They left the room after a few minutes of searching and coming up empty handed. Made sure to wipe down whatever they touched, just in case the police took this case seriously. There was a better chance of hell freezing over, but both Sam and Dean did it anyway. Jo stood behind and watched. Then they returned to their apartment to research.

Dean took his time returning to the room. He went doggie and smelled every inch of carpet, on every single level of the building. He came up with nothing more than what they had found before. He left no stone unturned, left no vent unscented. It was all for nothing, because he found nothing.

Ill at ease, he returned.

“Yeah - thanks Ash.” Jo was getting off the phone with Ash just as Dean was walking in. “Sorry for the early morning. And if you breathe a word of this to my mom...” 

_ “Gonna rip my nuts clean off.” _

“That's right. I will. With pliers.”

“We know who it was?” Dean asked Sam who was clicking away at his computer.

“No, not yet.” Sam barely lifted his eyes from the computer for a second. “Still trying to figure out who the hell this could be.”

“Okay,” Jo said with a final goodbye to Ash as she hung up the phone. “Moyamensing prison. Built in 1835, torn down in 1963.” 

“Prison, great.” Dean deadpanned. “As if things couldn’t get worse.”

Jo threw her phone at him. “Not done. Get this. They used to execute people by hanging them in the empty field next door.”

“Executions,” Dean shook his head. “That’s a lot of violent deaths there. Sam?”

“Working on a list, now.”

Then both of the brothers whistled as they scrolled through the list of names Sam had found. There were hundreds it looked like. Dean felt a little overwhelmed as he read through each name, trying to think of connections. Sam Smith. Daniel Forman. Ilya Sonoviak. And the list went on and on and on. Dean was thinking of the logistics of digging up that many bodies. How long it would take.

It wasn’t feasible.

“Hey - whaoh, wait,” Sam said, stopping and pointing. A name must have jumped out to him. 

Dean squinted at the brightly lit laptop. “What?”

“Herman Webster Mudgett?” Sam had that quality to his voice. Like he knew something. Or was trying to figure something out.

“Yeah? What about it?” Jo said from her side as she shimmied up to Dean’s side.

“Wasn't that H. H. Holmes' real name?”

Time stopped as Dean realized exactly what Sam was saying. H. H. Holmes. The first serial killer. Well, that got caught. The government's probably never counted on vampires or werewolves and other such ‘strange and unusual’ deaths. He was one of the first. The term multi-murder was coined specifically because of him.

“Fucking hell,” Dean snarled as he pushed  away from the table to pace. “You've gotta be  **kiddin'** me.”

“Anyone want to fill me in?” Jo asked.

Sam took the job and soon everyone was on the same page. 

“America’s first serial...” Jo’s eyes were wide. Her heartbeat kind of scattering. “Of course. That makes sense. His MO?”

Sam grimaced. “What do you think? Pretty petite blondes. He, uh, he used chloroform to kill 'em.”

“Does chloroform also smell like a gas leak?” Jo asked aloud.

Dean knew where she was going with this and stopped short. He smacked himself straight to the face. That would make sense... what they had smelled in the hall just last night. Ectoplasm didn’t smell like a gas leak... how could he have missed that?

“That’s what was in the hall.” 

Dean and Jo shared a momentary look of embarrassment that neither of them had caught that.

“Man, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” Dean told Jo with a little sliver of respect. Some Hunters could go lifetimes without dealing with more than the regular run of the mill ghosts, vengeful spirits, or other monsters. Serial killers were immortalized... almost on a god-level.

Jo felt panicked. This was way out of the norm and she could feel it, even if she didn’t know it.

“So we still just salt and burn the bones...” Jo stated, but faltered at their shared look, “Right...? Don’t we?”

Sam huffed.

“It’s not that easy.” He began and that’s when Dean knew the night had just gone from bad to  **awful** . “His body is buried in town, but it's encased in a couple tons of concrete.”

Dean knew that. It was common knowledge for someone who knew so much about the seedier underside of America. John had made them go through serial killers at one point. School, too, but elementary schools and high schools didn’t like kids being fixated on murders. It was frowned upon. Still, it had been something that both Sam and Dean could get into. Research and killing.

Back then, Dean had thought it a great bonding exercise.

Seemed it still was.

“ **Why** ?”Jo demanded, mouth agap. 

Dean answered for Sam. “The story goes that he didn't want anybody mutilating his corpse. 'Cause, you know, that's what he used to do.”

Jo was pale again, but she swallowed and sucked it up. At least until Sam opened his yap again.

“You know somethin'.” his eyes were glued to the screen. “We might have an even bigger problem than that.”

Nearly fed up, very close to just throwing her hands in the air, Jo turned to Sam. “How can this possibly get bigger?”

“Holmes built an apartment building in Chicago,” Sam began, in teacher mode. “He called it the Murder Castle. The whole place was a death factory, they had, uh, trap doors, acid vats, quick line pits... he built these secret chambers inside the walls. He'd lock his victims in, keep them alive for days. Some he'd suffocate, others he'd let starve to death.”

Jo’s little heart sped up, but there was also a sense about her. Dean had felt it before, but never coming from such a depressing moment.

Hope... it was hope.

Dean had to blink back his surprise at knowing that so easily. Feelings and senses were not as straightforward as smells. Scent came to his nose. Pictures to his eyes. Food to his mouth. Feeling... Sensing... it was all about his gut. It wasn’t a science. It was hardly something he felt comfortable trusting.

And things he couldn’t touch, feel, smell, or taste - they made him nervous.

“So girl could still be alive. She could be inside these walls.”

Jo’s voice, that hopeful lilt, dragged Dean back by his ears.

“Jo and I should be able to fit behind the walls.” Dean told Sam, already relieving himself of some of the more heavy things in his pockets he wouldn’t be needing as a dog. Because as a dog, he was slimmer than even Jo. And they would be together no matter what, then. “We may need backup, Sam.”

“I’ll go find some sledgehammers, crowbars.”

* * *

Finding a way into the crawl spaces on each floor wasn’t actually that hard once Dean and Jo and Sam got into it.

The hard part was splitting up into teams that were...  _ effective _ .

Dean wasn’t going to let Jo out of his sight, which Sam got, but also didn’t. Sam and Dean were the only one who could communicate with each other when Dean was a dog, but they both were proficient hunters. Jo was both a drag and helpful all in one. Most amateurs were. 

Their compromise was Sam being on speaker on Jo’s phone whenever Dean went doggie. The distance between them was easy to communicate between, even if the lag was a second or two long.

“Almost done with the first floor.” Sam said, static crinkling his voice slightly.

_ :We’re about halfway through with the second floor,: _ Dean told him.

“Roger, Dean.” Then the phone clicked off.

“I’m going to guess you just told him we were halfway done?” Jo asked, exasperated.

Their methods were not... perfect. Dean nodded at her as they both traveled along inside the walls, flashlights following every dust speck. They had just passed the smallest wooden pole and Dean now felt comfortable enough to transform. Bearing another small space, they’d be fine.

“You know, I’d be fine by myself,” Jo says, reminding him.

“Not gonna happen.” Dean reminded her right back.

“Seriously,” Jo stomped to a stop. “What’s your problem?”

Jo was really close to him. The walls were much tighter than Dean was expecting. When he turned to her, they were chest to chest. 

Dean blinked at the intimacy of the position. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t rolled around in the hay with girls since his cursing, it was just that he felt a lot more  _ self conscious _ the entire time. Which severely hampered his own charming self. Which in turn severely dampened not only his want, need, or  **whatever** to actually engage with other people. Not to mention none of them knew about his furry self. 

.... Dean kept mostly to flirting, especially since closing cases had gotten faster and easier with his curse. They were usually barely in town a night.

_ And why are you thinking of that?  _ Dean demanded of himself as he got caught between Jo and a wall.

“I have many problems,” Dean said instead of following that rabbit-trail. “Want me to list them?”

“Why not?” Jo shrugged apathetically, eyes aflame with fire.

“Alright, fine,” Dean decided just to shove the knife as deep as he could. “You’re going to get us killed. How’s that for a problem?”

Jo leaned back as if slapped.

“I’m  **not** going to be responsible for your deaths.”

“Yeah, cause you don’t take  _ responsibility _ .” Dean shook his head. “That’s the first thing, Jo. You think you can just put together a file, hunt down something, and then be done with it.”

“Isn’t that what you do?”

Dean glared at her down his nose. “No. We don’t. We take responsibility for every life we save and for every life we don’t,”

“... fine, but how would me being here get you killed?”

Dean chuckled wryly as he tried to think of how to say everything churning in his gut. He decided brute honesty would be best.

“We’ve never worked with you before. This job... it requires trust. With you here, we’re constantly checking over our shoulders, looking out for you as if you were a civilian caught in the crossfire. We don’t know your skill level. You’re an unknown entity - you allow those on the battlefield and someone’s bound to be screwed.”

Jo was quiet for a moment before continuing on.

Dean thought he must have hurt her feelings, but also knew he would have been slapped had he not hit the nail directly on the head. It was more likely that she was just thinking over everything he had said.

“I never asked you guys to come. Or work with me.”

“What kind of people would we be if we left you alone on your first hunt?”

“I still never asked.”

Dean sighed.

“If you had to ask, you wouldn’t be an amateur.”

“That makes no sense,” Jo scoffed at him, but the walls were closing in on them again.

That’s when Dean smelled it. Fresh ectoplasm. Which meant - 

The spirit was a wrinkly old man, with matted wiry hair, and dark black clothes. He had almost been a shadow, and if it hadn’t been for Dean’s sharp sense of smell, he might have missed him. As it was, he was still too late as he reached to grab Jo’s sleeve the same second the apparition attacked.

“Jo!” Dean called out as she slipped through his fingers.

Usually he had pretty decent night-vision, but they had flashlights and it was seriously messing with his eyes. He swiped forward, aiming for the spirit and getting a chunk of air.

Jo screamed a short jerky thing as she was thrown into the wall. Only it wasn’t a wall. It was a chute.  _ How had they not seen that? _ Dean’s heart raced as he attacked the spirit, but he had already dissipated - leaving behind only his putrid smell. 

Dean didn't even hesitate as he transformed and jumped down the chute after Jo’s smell. He barked after her, hoping for a response.

: _ Sam _ !: He called as darkness swallowed him whole and he tried to follow Jo’s scent. : _ The spirit attacked us! It got Jo!: _

He didn’t hear a response back from either Sam or Jo, but he wasn’t expecting one. He was hoping for one from Jo, but that was a wish.  

When he finished his slide down the chute he was met not with Jo’s unconscious body like he expected but dead space. Jo was nowhere to be found. Neither was the spirit. In fact, Dean didn't even really smell a hint of ectoplasm...

How was that possible?

He spent the next few minutes scouring the area, trying to pick up the scent. But it was no use.

Jo was gone.

* * *

Jo was gone. Her voice had disappeared, her heartbeat had dropped off the face of the planet. All he had was the scent she had left behind, and his nose didn’t go through walls like the scent was telling him. It was a first for him, his ability utterly failing him. The curse being just that... a curse. He had lost her. He had lost a  _ child _ . A novice. She was his responsibility as soon as he had lied to her mother, as soon as she had handed over her dagger with trust; she had become his sole responsibility. Every stupid decision she made was on him. Losing her... was on him.

Dean hadn’t  _ ever _ felt this devastated. 

The icing on the cake was when Ellen called. Right after he had lost her. He was still in the wall, sitting with his back against one of the support beams, when his phone rang. He answered it immediately thinking it was Sam.

“What’cha got?” He asked, palming his face as he tried to reach his senses out , tried to reach out for the familiarity of Jo.

“ _ You lied to me. She's there. _ ”

_ Dammit _ , Dean thought. Feeling even more guilty facing the voice of Jo’s mother.

“Ellen.” He said, softly.

“ _ No - Ash told me everything.”  _ The woman snarled. Angry. The anger of a mother who had been scorned, lied to, and lost. _ “Man's a genius, but he folds like a cheap suit. Now you put my damn daughter on the phone. _ ”

“Ellen.” Dean said again, this time with meaning.

There was a pause on the end of the other line.

“ _ I know she’s there, Dean. Where is she _ ?” This time, Ellen’s voice was hesitant. A twitch of uncertainty.

“Dean?” Sam called out down the hall, finally reaching him on the opposite side of the walls. 

The familiar ignored him in favor of running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath.

“We will get her back.” Dean said, faking confidence. Faking surety. 

“Get her back?” The woman's voice was more than angry, it was fearful. “From what?”

Dean admitted. “The spirit we're hunting, it took her.” 

“ **_Ohmygod_ ** .”

It was like a sock to the gut. Every time somebody put the lives of someone he was trying to save in his hands. With or without their own permission. Every time somebody was put in danger by his own weakness, his own doing. It was punch to the gut. And more.

“She'll be okay, I promise.” Dean said with as much conviction as he could muster. Sam could no doubt here the phone call on the other side of the wall since Dean could hear his heartbeat and his breathing but not his voice. Dean wondered, briefly, what it would feel like to hear what Sam was saying in his mind.

“ _ You  _ **_promise_ ** _. _ ” Ellen said derisively. “ _ That is not the first time I've heard that from a Winchester _ .”

Dean’s mind slowed to a halt as he could only stupidly said, “What?”

“ _ If anything happens to her... _ ” Ellen was already onto threats now.

_ What had she meant? Not the first time from a Winchester? _ The only Winchester Ellen had known before them was John... and she had said - It didn’t matter. Dean shook his head from the thoughts. What mattered right now was Jo. Jo and the other girl snatched by the spirit. 

“It won't. I won't let it.” Dean promises her. “Ellen, I'm sorry, I really am.”

“ _ I'm taking the first flight out. I'll be there in a few hours. _ ”

The phone hung from Dean’s hand as she hung up.

“Dean?” Sam asked again.

“Dammit all.”

“Hey,” His voice came over the wall. “Don't beat yourself up, Dean. There's nothing you could have done.”

Except there were. There were hundreds of ways Dean could have prevented everything. Tying Jo down so she didn’t come with. Sending her home no matter how much she bitched and moaned. Getting to the spirit before it got to Jo. Letting the spirit take him, which never would have happened, he knew. His mind was going over everything and he was not letting it go.

Dean stumbled to his feet, transformed and made his way to exit the walls.

_ :Go, Sam. Find something. I’ll meet you in the room. _ :

When Dean met Sam in the room, he was standing over the blueprints and trying to see through the dimness of the room.  Dean hit a light and Sam squinted at him. 

“Sam,” Dean demanded. “Tell me you’ve got  _ something _ .”

“Uh, maybe. Look. You look at the layout of the Holmes murder castle, there's all the torture chambers inside the walls, right?”

“Yeah, right.”

“But there's one we haven't considered yet. The one in this basement.”

“This building doesn’t have a basement.”

“You're right, it doesn't. But I just noticed this. Beneath the foundation, it looks like part of an old sewer system that hasn't been used for — “

And Dean remembered that smell. The sewer smell. It had been one of those subtle smells, or combination of smells, that he tried to ignore.

Everything clicked.

“Let's go.”

* * *

Dean’s nose and ears are essentially useless on this one. If the spirit is underground, they have to use their EMF detectors and metal detectors and try to find something hidden under the earth. For once, this wasn’t something his nose could help out with. They were looking underground, they were looking behind walls, and through steel and stone. For this, his ears would be better. 

Though not by much. 

He strained his ears to the fullest extent he could, listening and shutting out his eyes, his touch, and smell. He’d never done anything like this before. He’d practiced, just in case he had to try it out in dark situations, but this was a lot more than he bargained for.

Still. He hadn’t bargained for much. And Jo deserved this.

So he shut his eyes, his mouth, and kept his hands to himself as he tried to listen for anything out of the ordinary. The beeping of the metal detector as Sam helped look was distracting, but Dean did his best. It ended up being the metal detector that won.

But as they dug around the covered sewer hole, Dean heard scratching inside. Like mice on floorboards. Fainter, really. His heartbeat stuttered with hope. Both brothers work silently, not needing to talk through the tense situation they found themselves in. The calming rhythm of scoop, throw, scoop kept them busy for ten or twelve minutes. And then just opening up the sewer grate was hard.

They descended into the darkness flashlights at the ready.

The faint scratching sound became louder. It was movement of clothes against metal, hard breathing, and scratching nails. Brief bursts of kicking and more heavy breathing. Dean felt relief. 

The girls. They were  **here** . 

“You're so pretty. So beautiful.” A whispery voice with a lisp said. It was practically a coo. Possessive.

Dean felt a shiver of disgust crawl up and down his spine. 

“Go to hell!” Jo snarled at him.

_ That’s my girl _ , Dean thought warmly as he led Sam through the dark towards the sound of Jo, the spirit, and hopefully the other girl. He was severely sickened hearing Jo shudder in convulsive fear.

Then there was a sharp sound of pain, of anger, and the weird-kind-of-strange sound of a spirit disappearing. 

_ What happened? _ Dean thought to himself, worried but also kind of impressed.  _ Had Jo brought a weapon with her? Had she caught the man? _

Dean crawled faster through the small tunnel they were stuck in. 

“Is he gone?” A new voice asked, and Dean felt more relief. The other girl was alive. At this point, Sam would be able to hear, too. With his dull human hearing.

“I don’t know,” Jo says, and then all Dean hears is a scuffle. The sliding of jeans on a slab, muffle screams as a hand if thrown over a mouth, kicking into a metal something. Dean hears it all. And his blood boils.

He quickly transformed, sprinted the last small distance, went right back to human and pulled his gun all in the span of a second. He got off a shot at the back of the creepy serial murder spirit. With a scream, the spirit went flying and disappeared in a puff of smoke. 

“Jo?” Dean asked, a demand. 

“Here!”

Her voice was nothing short of relieved. Dean felt a weight leave his chest as he reached the small open sliver to see into her prison. To verify himself that she was alive.

“God,” Dean said in relief, almost a prayer, as he smiled at her. “Gimmie a second, I’ll get you out.”

For a spirit, he sure picked a well-stocked murder dungeon. Dean found two crowbars on the wall and quickly made work of the locks keeping Jo secured. Then he threw one to Sam, who was freeing the other girl. 

She’d only been gone three or four hours, but that was probably really uncomfortable either way. She stumbled slightly into his arms as he steadied her, but seeing her alive - it was worth everything. “You alright?” Dean asked as he helped Jo out.

“Been better.” She huffed, thankful. “Let's get the hell out of here before he comes back."

Dean had to stop her with a hand to her midsection. He said, apologetically. “Actually, I don't think you're leaving here just yet.”

“What?” She demanded against his side.

“Remember when I said you being bait was a bad plan?” 

Jo wilted as she realized what Dean was saying. 

“Now it's kind of the only one we got.”

She looked to Sam, as if to confirm it. He had his hands full of the sobbing woman, Theresa, but with a grimace he nodded. Jo deflated. Dean saw the almost imperceivable tremor of fear that fluttered over her. She grimaced. Dean saw her thinking, saw her working through it all in her head. Saw the moment it all was cemented in her mind.

Then, finally, with a sigh, she nodded. 

_ That’a girl, _ Dean thought with great fondness, as Jo swallowed back her fear.

* * *

De an had smelled a lot of things, and he knew the smell of fear. Intimately. But he had never... bathed in it. Not like he was now. When he arrived to a scene, he was usually quick to stop everything that was happening. The fear usually dissipated as thankful, grateful people turned happy to be saved.

But Jo was in danger, the constant fear she was emitting damn near turned his stomach it was so sweet and putrid. 

It was not pleasant. Not for either of them. 

Sam had brought Theresa up to the top-land to bring her to the hospital and would hopefully be back before anything happened. If not, it wasn’t too bad. Just... not the best. Dean would rather have backup than nothing at all. Not counting Jo, because, unfortunately, she was bait.

The air chilled a degree and Dean had almost forgotten what that felt like. He'd been so focused on smell and hearing that listening to that other part, the part he’d been trained as a human, since forever to listen to, had gotten smaller and smaller. He’d almost forgotten about temperature, about watching for the little things, about being observant rather than  **sure** .

Now, with nothing to make him forget, he waited.

The old man appeared right behind Jo. One minute not there, the next second - boom. Dead guy. Dean tensed up in waiting. Jo’s anxiety, her fear, tripled and the smell turned sharper, sourer. As if it wasn’t already like sucking a lemon. 

Holmes walked forward slowly, creeping up behind Jo like the ghost he was. 

Dean couldn’t handle it.

“Now!” He yelled to Jo right as the spirit bent to touch her hair.

Jo darted out of the way of the spirit and whirled around to jump behind the line of salt where Dean was. When she was safely behind the line he pulled down the bags of salt and let them spill every which way, into the circle he had started and now closed.

It took the spirit only a second to realize it was trapped. 

Then the screaming started.

Jo was cool as a cucumber as she smiled a smarting smile at the spirit. “Scream all you want, you dick, but there's no way you're stepping over that salt!”

Dean heaved the grate shut, pulling her out of the way, as they sealed the spirit in for good. Forever.

It didn’t take long for Jo to bounce back. She was the daughter of a hunter. She had the wherewithal to fight it out until the end. 

Jo was amused when he brought her along to ‘borrow’ a cement truck, and by the time they got back Sam was staring down into the darkness of the sewer basement-murder-dungeon. Lost in thought he turned only as Dean backed the truck up over to the hole that was about to be plugged. He waved his hand to let Dean knew where to stop, but he didn’t speak.

Even then he didn’t say anything as Dean returned the truck. Not another word as they went back to the apartment.

“You okay there, Sammy?” Dean asked as they walked with their gear.

“... that was a close one.” Sam said, with a sigh. 

“What about Theresa?” Jo asked, from behind, not lagging but not keeping up either.

“Scratched up. Freaked out,” Sam said, clearly ruffled. “She’ll live though.”

Dean nodded. “That’s all we can ask for sometimes...”

“That was just a regular old tuesday for you both, wasn’t it?” Jo said behind them, but it sounded like a revelation.

Both Sam and Dean stopped to look behind them where Jo had stopped.

Dean looked to Sam, conveying agreement. Sam shrugged to Deans raised eyebrow. A silent conversation before they turned back. “You gotta be ready for anything. You hope for a salt and burn... but you ready yourself for the worst of the worst.”

“... I really didn’t help anything out, did I?” 

Dean wanted to tell her the truth. Tell her straight up that her being there had closed the case faster, but it had sure gotten their blood boiler on her account. He wanted to tell her that her clumsiness, her wiliness had given them near heart attacks, but just one look at her fragile momentary state of mind - Dean knew he couldn’t crush someone. Not like this.

“You’re new.” Dean said. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Then he turned and continued. He felt Sam’s eyes on the back of his neck, but he didn’t dare give Sam the satisfaction of knowing that Dean knew he was aware of him. He didn’t need Sam’s approval of being nice to the girl.

Back at the apartment, Dean knew there was someone inside, but he just assumed it was the landlord. He knew shit-all about the rent and the contract for the apartment.  _ Who knew if he could just come and go if he wanted? _ Not Dean, that was for sure. Still, the only thing he knew of the heartbeat was that it was familiar.

So he was as shocked as everyone else when they opened the door to see Ellen packing up the few knick-knacks that Jo had left lying around. She didn’t look at them. She didn’t speak to them. Just shoved various objects into their arms, so they would clean up as well.

The three of them all shared a look before uneasily just following along.

Dean was too tired to fight back, or be a smart ass. Jo was still shaken from her encounter. Sam was probably the most well-rested of them all, but he just didn’t have the personality of clashing and collisions. So he stepped back and kept his head down as he packed up his little corner of the apartment.

Jo left a note behind to tell the landlord they were gone.

And then... they were.

The trip back is... awkward. Dean’s exhausted and doesn’t keep up a running commentary like he usually might. Jo and Sam are subdued in the back for most of the first few hours. There are a few tries at conversation, but Ellen’s cold shoulder shut them all up. Including the radio at one such try.

When they finally get to the roadhouse, Ellen and Jo exit and the mother dragged her daughter off to tear her head off.

* * *

Dean and Sam laugh about it but wait outside for the storm to blow over before entering.

Sam realizes about two minutes in that something was wrong as Dean’s smile slowly faded and he paled.

Dean doesn’t mean to listen. He can’t help it. He and Sam are standing at the car outside the roadhouse and it's not that far to the house. These ears of his have a mind of their own. He hears how Ellen breaks down, her voice wibbling and wobbling, as she tried to talk through sudden tears. Of how her husband, Jo’s father, had a partner on this last hunt. How that partner had been John. The betrayal. Dean hears a story for once, of somebody left behind by his father. It’s kinship even as it’s a slap to the face. That conversation had chipped away at the second absolute left in Dean’s life: John had been a good man.

Dean feels sick, physically ill.

When Jo comes storming out, she looks at him, and they both know he knows. Her eyes are rimmed red, she’s on the verge of tears, and she just stares at him. Stares like he’s John.

Dean’s never wanted so badly not to be his father’s son. And that's a new one.

He’d hated himself ever since the curse, but he knew he had at least made his father proud by how many monsters he’d taken out of this world. Johns love, approval, and order had been all Dean had needed.

The only thing Dean his father had left him was Sam for a brother and a pile of old hurts and wounds.

“Did you know?” She demands.

Sam answers for Dean, because suddenly his mouth is all sandpaper and cotton balls. “Know what?”

She swallowed heavily. Sam didn’t know what they were talking about. He was just trying to shield. Shield from the rage, the ire coming from this little slip of a girl who they’d saved not even a day before.

“Did. You. Know?” Jo demands.

“No.” Dean answers, but the answer isn’t good enough. 

Jo doesn’t think so, and neither does Dean.

Ellen’s words, _ like father like son, _ echo through his mind. 

And Dean... well, Dean’s felt  **shame** before. It’s been a while, and he hasn’t felt awful enough about himself to feel bad for what he does, but this. This time he feels shame and more. He feels sick in his gut that his father had survived and hers hadn’t. He feels remorse that it wasn’t John, because maybe... just maybe her father should have been the one to live. That he should have had the chance, but that he didn’t.

Jo’s eyes were hard, her mouth a line, a slash. 

“Nothing to say?”

Dean could smell the agony she was in the distaste, the uncertainty, but the overwhelming need for the truth. The truth she had been withheld. 

“No,” Dean said, remembering his father’s pyre. Remembered the smell of burnt, crumbling blackened flesh. Remember the secret he had asked him to keep. The promise he had demanded as blood had been spilled. And he realized, perhaps, he had been wrong not to tell Sam.

It was too late, though. It had to be.

“Nothing to say,” Dean confirmed.

Jo softened, shoulders slumping, as she shoulder-checked him on her way past as she walked down the long drive. 

Even Dean could smell she had no direction. But she had to walk.

When all's said and done, Ellen quiet, and Jo gone, Dean goes out and buys a set of noise-canceling headphones and a really crappy iPod at the next largest gas station he can find. Sam doesn’t remind him of his distaste for technology. Doesn’t mention one thing about the determined expression on his face, or the quirk of his jaw. The iPod works to tune the world down to an almost human level, dumbs Dean’s senses down to something easier and better. He hears only the immediate surroundings and he thinks to himself -  _ why hadn’t I done this before? _

He decides to wear them when he’s not on a hunt. 

He swears he won’t ever eavesdrop. Nor hear the truth like this, not if its gonna hurt this bad. He swears he won’t ever eavesdrop, accidentally or not, on friends again. Especially not family. 

Sam only frowns at him, sad as a puppy dog, but Dean just turns the music higher.

Led Zeppelin shouted in his ear, and the world outside was quiet. 


	8. It's Not Unusual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A locked office murder. Dean almost being arrested. Sam most certainly being arrested. A ghost trying to tell them something.  
> They just can't ever get break, can they?  
> [Part 1 of Episode 7]

Everything was going to shit. 

Dean and Sam had arrived in Baltimore to figure out how an attorney, in a locked room, managed to get his throat slashed. The police had nothing. No prints, no DNA, nada. It smacked of the supernatural. The brothers were only too glad to go and check it out. Especially after the debacle with Jo, it had seemed only natural.  In the car, Dean didn’t wear his headphones because it looked stupid and also cops tended to like pulling over weirdos, same reason he didn’t wear his collar - but he promised himself he would wear them whenever he felt it necessary.

Seeing as he wasn’t around people he cared about... it didn’t feel it necessary.

_ Who would have guessed what a pain in the ass that would be? _

Dean hadn’t, that was for sure. Nor had he thought the hunt would yield yet  _ another  _ spirit. Especially such a... unique one.

Sam and Dean had done their usual talk to the suspect's wife together and then broke into the man’s office. The first thing that hit Dean’s nose was the smell of ectoplasm. Or, at least, Dean assumed it was ectoplasm. It had that same putrid dead smell as Holmes had, but that was something different to this one. Maybe the smell differed based on how many people they killed? That didn’t make much sense, because this ectoplasm smelled way, way better than Holmes’ did... but then again - what did Dean know?

His nose was still new. A year-old nose wasn’t enough to stake the family name on.

So he and Sam did their research and left to go check on Karen together. 

And that was when it all went pear-shaped. 

* * *

He couldn’t hear Karen’s breathing. That was the first clue. He told Sam as much. There was a kind of technological ticking, or scratching, it was annoyingly loud and covered every other sound, but that was it. When they  arrived at the Giles’ house, the door was closed, locked. Dean also wasn’t aware of anything happening in the house. 

Nothing human.

“What’s up?” Sam asked him, confused.

“Karen?” Dean called, ignoring his brother. She was too far away to hear him, or too distracted. Or not in the house.

_ Maybe she stepped out? _

Picking the lock he entered the house, only to be immediately assaulted by the smell of ghost, of spirit. The faintest hint of ectoplasm. The pre-ectoplasm. A young spirit, but still a spirit. He breathed deeply and knew that he was too late. Way, way too late.

_ Damnit. _

“It’s here!” Dean exclaimed as he shoved past his brother. Sam was right on his heels. He followed his nose, taking the stairs two at a time, until he smelled blood. It was fresh, but turning staler and staler by the minute. He turned the corner and -

“Oh, God, Karen,” Dean said, defeatedly as he looked over her corpse. Her glassy eyes stared up at him, as her throat was slashed and her body torn to ribbons. The blood was fresh, so it hadn’t had the chance to permeate the area.

There was blood everywhere.

“Dean! Check this out.” 

Sam was already over on the other end of the room, next to the printer. Dean followed the sound of click, of a kind of whirling, to see the printer going at it next to the dead body of Karen Giles. Paper after paper was falling onto the floor, next to Karen. Sam caught one.

**danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps   danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps danashulpsdanashulps  danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps**

Dean found the dead body of Karen a sad sight. Just losing her husband... it was a low blow for the spirit. And a weird one... Sam crouched over her body, looking her over, piece of paper clutched in his hand. Damn. They had been way late. Way too late.

And it was about to be made even worse.

The sound of a car squealing to a halt in front of the house, and behind, was loud.

“Sam, we’ve got company.” Dean hissed, as his ears picked up on the sound of people. Two or three. If it hadn’t been for his ears, he would have been caught unaware by the police, but as it was - he was a familiar now. The last thing he need to be was captured or arrested. Dean Winchester was supposed to be  **dead** . Fortunately for him, he just needed to transform. Sam though, Sam was stuck. Dean warned him as best he could, but that was all he could do. 

“Damn it,” Sam cursed, looking for an exit. 

All the windows were too small for his mass. It was clear there was no way out but with the people coming up the stairs.

“Play dumb.” Dean ordered him him. Sam glared at him but crouched. He had just enough time to put his collar on, transform and sniff at her hand trying to follow what could have done this, because it was clearly no spirit they had ever encountered before, before the police barged in. Unfortunately, Karen just smelled dead but the only spots that smelled ghost-y were her wrists. Where there were black, darkened marks.

That’s when the police arrived.

“Freeze!” One of the officers yelled at Sam, gun on trained on his chest. Sam held his hands up, thankfully there was no blood on him. Dean had warned him in enough time that he stopped before checking for a pulse.

“Officer, I just got here - “

“Shut up! Don’t move!”

The man was clearly upset by the sight in front of him and took it out on Sam. 

Another of the other officers waltzed in, gun drawn and on Sam. “In here!”

_ :I’m making a run for it.: _ Dean told Sam, as he tried to maneuver his way through legs. 

Something, or someone, snagged his collar. He wiggled his way backwards and managed to get loose just enough to back away. 

“Whoa, hey there, boy.”

_ Well. Damn. _ Looks like he wasn’t going anywhere. Trying to be pathetic, Dean adopted a limp and whimpered at the man. He knew he’d get shit later from Sam, but this was  _ necessary _ . When dog, act dog. There was no way in hell Dean was going to be taken in. Thank God the man was a dog lover, or at least sympathetic, because he dropped his gun to his side and then he himself dropped onto a knee. His smell shifted from scared, terror, and anger to a more mellow anger and sadness. Still sharp, he still was feeling it.

“You got him?” The man in front of Dean asked his partner, gesturing to Sam.

“Yeah, Tony, I got him.” And his gun never wavered on Sam as he walked forward to take his handcuffs out. “Take care of the dog. Bag and tag for evidence.” 

Dean forgot Sam as he put all his attention into wooing the man so he could escape.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay buddy.” The man said, his nametag read Smithson. “It's gonna be alright.”

Dean knew how to play his part and limped over, tail tucked, to lick the hand that was reached out towards him. He got a pat for his trouble and thankfully he’d managed to win the guy over. A shaky hand grabbed his collar and he was tugged a little closer for inspection.

“Dean, huh?” The man said, feeling over him for bumps and hurts.

“He’s Karen’s.” Sam said, acting like he was in a daze, as the officer slapped handcuffs on him behind his back. “She told me she just got him. Picked him up on the side of the road - Oh... Oh god, Karen.”

: _ Beautiful, Sam, damn near shed a tear, _ : Dean said as he was manhandled. He almost wished he were the one in cuffs. : _ Ugh, you lucky bastard. _ :

“Come on,” The officer said, leading Sam away and down the stairs.

Okay, fine maybe not lucky bastard. But at least he didn’t have to be pawed at.

“Com’er, Dean,” Smithson said, as he gently tugged on Dean’s collar. Seeing no choice. “Let’s get you out of here.”

What proceeded from there was nothing short of interesting. Dean had been arrested before, but he’d never been held as... as evidence. They checked his teeth, his fur, his paws and his collar for any blood from the victim. He was combed and manhandled and photographed- all evidence-logged. They thought he was at the murder scene at the time of death. Thought he had been protecting Karen when she’d died. When they were satisfied with that, and it only took a few minutes, they gave him over to one of the firemen.

: _ Anywhere specific you want me to wait for your release? _ : Dean asked, ears perked as he sat on the floor. They had their guard down now, and he could escape at any moment, just needed to get the plan for Sam - because he was the only one who couldn’t speak back.

Sam muttered under his breath: “Get out of here. They’ve got nothing to keep me on - ” And then he paused as he was led out. “I’ll play it smart and be out before ya know it. Any longer than that and come get me,”

Then he was led out to the car and Dean couldn’t hear anymore.

“Man. This is gonna be a  _ lot _ of paperwork,” The man in front of Dean said as he used the belt they were using as a leash to lead him outside.. But then he patted Dean’s head and there was definitely a moment where Dean felt like the other guy felt better. Which was... weird. He’d never felt what other people were feeling. _ Maybe it had to do with touch? _

Dean didn’t know. He just knew that the men weren’t paying attention.

_ :You gonna be fine? _ : He still asked.

Sam snorted as the man manhandled him into the car. Not kindly either.

: _ Well. Great. The wife’s dead, Sam _ ,: Dean huffed as he trotted down the sidewalk past the police cars. :I  _ Just barely got out of there. You’ve been arrested. I’m on my freakin own. Good thing those idiots probably failed that course at the Police Academy, in collecting living things as evidence. _ :

Sam of course, did not answer. He was far away. Dean wasn’t even sure if he could hear him or what distance it cut out.

It wasn’t the first time Dean wished he could just talk to Sam as if he were on a cellphone. It would make everything a lot easier, that’s for sure. But as it was, he had to either transform and call him or tell him in person so they could go back and forth. Except neither of those were options when he was freakin’ arrested. Seeing as how the place he was leaving was flocked with police, and he still technically was a wanted murderer, he stayed as a dog.

As he walked, he tried to imagine what a telepathic link between the two of them might be like. And promptly stopped after realizing they could possibly get stuck just listen to every thought in each other's mind. Which... well, was dangerous. He didn’t need Sam knowing about what their father had told him he had to do. He didn’t need Sam questioning his own love and devotion to him. 

So Dean put that out of his mind.

Dean wasn’t scared to turn human, but he was hesitant. They had Sam, but there was always the option they could come looking for him. He was the ‘murderer’ in the family, after all. Even if people thought he was dead. Dean knew Sam would play it as if Dean was dead - and Dean also hoped beyond hope that he could spin it well enough that they didn’t just let him go, but  **believed** him. He had also been human for a few days, too, and there was always the complete possibility that someone had seen him, or he was caught on camera.

It was a little bit of a chilly night, so he hid in the squat slide of the playground as he tried to think of the murders. He’d move in another hour when it suited him, but for now, the plastic side wasn’t that bad. Just made his fur static-y. 

With a sigh, he thought back on the murder scene he’d left. Pushing Sam and his arrest out of his mind, he focused on the job.

_ Poor Karen Giles _ , Dean thought. Dead so soon after her husband. Just beginning to get over her grief. It was sad, and Dean felt guilty he hadn’t been quicker, faster, to save her. His curse hadn’t helped him with this one. They lost an innocent, because they’d hesitated.

It was just another senseless death.

Dean tried to comfort himself with the reality. Hunts went wrong all the time, but they’d been batting a hundred that he hadn’t had to deal with the usual death toll. Not everyone survived. They couldn’t save everyone but good lord did he wish he could. Every day of his life was trying to figure out.

_ Like Father like Son.  _ Ellen’s cruel words hit him in his chest and he hunkered down for a moment. Sam wasn’t going anywhere, so he allowed himself a few minute of self-deprecating mind-think. Lingering in the darkest part of himself.

_ Stop this, _ Dean, he told himself. Pull yourself together.

It took him a moment. Just a moment. Then he was back to on the hunt.

Now.

Danashulps.

* * *

Sam was not chained to the table which lead him to believe they arrested him on some pretty soft charges. Sure, he had been there at the murder scene, but... well, he hadn’t had any blood on him, nor a murder weapon. Maybe a partial fingerprint left at a scene or something added on his ‘suspicious’ last name mixed with just about a hundred different things - Sam knew the police had been wanting to snatch him up since he was, like, twelve. When he had gone to Stanford, they must have assumed he’d gone straight and narrow.

He paced behind the table and tried to keep himself calm.

Dean would have sat and waited, cool as a cucumber. But Sam wasn’t like Dean. He didn’t blend in with backgrounds. He didn't absorb. Dean had lived the life longer than Sam, and it showed, but Sam knew how to deflect, how to beat the system, and how to follow. With Dean being cursed and him having to take on some of the more ‘leadership-y’ roles, he’d gotten better, but he wasn’t nearly as good as Dean. His brother had a gift. Whether it was to stay unrelenting in the face of absolute death or to crack a wise-ass remark to comfort and soothe the fears of the ones they were rescuing. 

It took almost twenty minutes before a woman walked in. She brought with her a cup of coffee. A peace offering. They already had his fingerprints, after all.

“Thought you might be thirsty,” She said, setting the cup down firmly. 

“Okay, so you're the good cop.” Sam smiled smugly. “Where's the bad cop?”

“We found you at the murder scene,” She jumped right in. “Its not looking good for you, Sam.”

“And as I explained to the cop who arrested me, I had just come from Tony’s office, I was getting some stuff for Karen - “

“Let’s skip the bullshit, can’t we?”

Sam scoffed, pulling back as he looked at her. 

“Go right ahead,”

“I’m Diana Ballard, and I’ve got some questions for you, Sam Winchester,”

“Interesting, because I have some questions, for you too,”

* * *

He knew how this was going to go. It was basically scripted.

Diana tried to put on a friendly smile, to disarm him. Sam practically invented the expression, so it didn’t work on him. But she didn’t know that. So he looked at her, and she looked at him; they both were at an impasse. Except Sam had the better hand.

Sam said, crossing his arm behind the table. “Is there something I am being charged with or...?”

“Sam, we found you at the crime scene,” She repeated. “Now, I’ve got it on record that you went to Stanford. You know what that means - “

“Yup, and I know I didn’t do it, so I think we’re done here,”

Diana turned all business. “Where’s your brother?”

“Dead.” Sam raised a brow. He asked again,  “Am I being charged with something?”

“We’ll get to that.”

_ Ahh, so that’s how they were going to play this,  _ Sam thought to himself with narrowed eyes as he paced a few more steps, at his leisure.

“I know all about you, Sam.” Diana told him. 

_ Doubt it. _

“You're twenty three years old, no job, no home address. Your mother died when you were a baby, your father's whereabouts are unknown.” 

_ He’s dead, bitch, _ Sam thought nastily, but had to give it to her. She’d done her homework. Granted, all of the things in that file were the truth and harmless, it still sent a shiver up his spine that anyone could ever get that close to finding out about what they truly do.

Since Sam gave her nothing, she continued.

“Your family moved around a lot when you were a kid. Despite that, you were a straight-A student. Got into Stanford with a full ride. Then about a year ago there was a fire in your apartment. One fatality. Jessica Moore, your girlfriend,” Sam closed his eyes, unwittingly bringing up an image burned into his memory of his girlfriend. It was a bitch move on Diana’s part, trying to elicit an emotional reaction based on Sam’s past. “After she died, you fell off the grid. Left behind everything.”

“I needed some time off. To deal.” Sam snipped at her. “It started with a road trip with my brother.”

“How’s that going for you?”

“He’s dead, so...”

“There's that... Just tell me the truth, Sam, Dean’s demise was, well, just a little bit exaggerated.” She straightened her folder as she leaned back. “Feel free to jump in whenever you like.”

Sam knew one thing to say.

“My brother’s  **dead** .” 

Diana shook her head as she pulled out a sketch of a man. A man who looked strikingly like Dean.  _ Well. Shit. _ Sam put on his best poker face, but even he knew when he was caught. “We have three witnesses who place your brother in this town. One who places him, and  _ you _ , at the victim's home. We also have an eyewitness, someone who saw two men fitting your and your brother's description  **breaking into** Giles' office.”

She had nothing, but what she did have... it was troubling. She was putting the pieces together at an alarming rate. And Dean... Dean was as good as alive to these people. 

“I’ve already told you, I know Karen and her husband! Alright, she gave me a key!” Sam felt like punching a wall for how well these people listened to his well crafted lies. It was like they couldn’t even appreciate good acting. “And if my brother was alive like you’re claiming?” 

Sam scoffed when she just looked at him expectantly. 

“What do you think we’ll find if we run your fingerprints?” She asked, rhetorically.

Sam knew they’d find very little. He was very careful about cleaning off whatever he touched at crime scenes. Plus, Dean was usually the one who got violent. Or, well, increasingly violent. He liked to smash, destroy, and behead about 40% more than Sam did.

“Listen, lady, everything you have is soft. Really soft. Even without an alibi,” Sam sighed. “And honestly - I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. But I didn’t do anything.”

She opened her mouth.

“And neither, thanks, did my  _ dead  _ brother.”

“Fine,” She said. “Let’s hear it.”

Sam fingered the coffee-to-go cup and thought of the best way to start. He’d done this often enough. Spun stories that Dean and he had come up the night before over a beer (now cream soda for his doggie-brother), and then quiz each other relentlessly. Honestly, it was probably the most fun part of a job. 

Being someone else for a little while.

“My dad and Tony Giles were old friends.” Sam began, already proficient on the lie he was ready to spout. “They were in the service together. We've known him since we were kids, you know?” He smiled fondly, pulling up a memory of Dean and him at Bobby’s. “So I came as soon as I heard about his death...”

* * *

After Diana had finished interrogating him, completely unhappy with what Sam had told her, how his story matched, and could fit into the missing pieces of her own puzzle - she left. Slamming the door behind her, she stomped off.  Sam knew his story had been good, almost bulletproof. Had he had Dean to back him up, it would have been even better.

As it was, he’d done the best he could.

He just hoped it would be enough.

Time ticked by slowly. Sitting, waiting Sam pulled over a pad of paper. If he was going to be trapped for - he looked to the clock - another thirty hours, he might as well make the best of it. There was still the matter of the name they found written out on the table and on the wall. Dana Shulps.

Dean hadn’t found anything on the woman in Anthony Giles’ files. It was just a name. A name that kept showing up, like a bad case of the flu. Now... now it just kept nagging at Sam. 

He started writing out different ways to smell the name, but the spirit had been very insistent. So he kept the letters and just started moving them around. He’d come up with about six or seven options, all horrible and meaning nothing to him, when another man entered the room.

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam looked up, expectantly, as the man introduced himself. 

“I'm Jeffrey Kraus. I'm with the public defender's office. I'm your lawyer.”

Great, Sam thought but quickly dismissed the man. He wasn’t important. At least, not as a lawyer... but maybe as another set of eyes?

“Nice to meet you,” He turned the pad of paper around to the man. “Can you tell me if any of these words mean anything to you?”

Kraus was in the middle of sitting down and just kind of looked at Sam funny. Like he’d told him to do a handstand.

“Son, I know they barely have anything on you,” He finally sat down. “But what they do have is enough to get a conviction if their leads pan out into anything.”

“I was arrested. I did not kill Karen,” Sam deadpanned. “I think I get it. Please, just look over this?”

With great hesitancy, the man pulled the pad of paper to himself and readjusted his glasses. 

“Well, P-U-S, I don't know about that,” The man said, crossing out the word and then circling another. “But Ashland is a street name. Not far from here.” He pointed to the south, right behind him. 

“A street?” Sam questioned himself. Well. Yeah, that could work. The spirit had given them an address...

_ That’s a little strange _ , Sam thought to himself before the Lawyer started in on his case.

“Now, Mr. Winchester, their case is mostly circumstantial at best. Standing over a murder victim is the worst, but they don’t have the murder weapon. Nor did you have blood on you. Breaking and entering, might be a bit harder t swing, it being a petty crime,” Kraus continued talking and outlining that, yes they had eyewitnesses, but technically if Sam had had the key - they had nothing. 

“I already told them I had the key. It wasn’t breaking and entering.” Sam defended.

“Well, if what you say is true - then they are just holding you because of Karen Giles murder.”

“They can’t hold me on that. They have no evidence!”

Kraus smiled. “Exactly.”

Sam felt hopeful that the lawyer could make this all go away. And in the next few hours, too.

* * *

This was a shitshow, Sam decided in amusement but also somewhat exhausted, as he waited to be released. They could technically hold him for another twelve hours, but that would be stupid. Faintly he wondered what would have happened had human-Dean been arrested at the murder scene... He was a wanted murderer, though it had been closed when they’d found the body of the shapeshifter - what seemed like years ago. Sam knew he would be in basically the same position, perhaps a little more strapped to shape his story right for Dean’s sake.

The curse was becoming more and more of a blessing the longer Dean stayed a Familiar.

It was way better that Sam be arrested than Dean even be thought alive. Plus, it was good they they be kept on their toes. With Dean’s heightened senses, sometimes it was hard to remember how life was before. How slow. How slow it was finding the alleged monsters, hunting them, killing them. What had taken weeks once, now took two or three days tops. 

Sam was getting spoiled.

The door opened again and Sam’s hopes rose, only to be dashed as he saw it was only the detective. The woman one, anyway.

“I have a few follow up questions,” She said. “Some of your statements were... off -”

Sam was confused though, she came in strong but she seemed shaken. Like she’d seen - 

“Are you alright?” Sam asked her, in concern. If the spirit was moving on to the police force... it needed to be  **stopped** . This had gone on long enough as it was.

“I’m fine,” She waved off his concern and rubbed the back of her neck. “Now, in reference to the key you were given by  - “

Everything within Sam froze as he saw the markings on her hands. They hadn’t been there before. In fact, if Sam didn’t know better, he’d have to guess those marks wouldn’t have had the time to deppen to such a dark color within the last hour he had been left alone without her company. 

“What happened to your wrists?” He interrupted her, this time much, much kinder.

Diana looked to her wrists in confusion.

“I don't know. It, it wasn't there before.”

And there it was.

“What did you see?” Sam demanded, getting up to reach for her wrists. She recoiled violently. So Sam just held his hands up slowly, to show he meant no harm as he walked closer. “Sorry, may I?”

“Why?”

“I - hmm - just let me see, I have an idea of what could have done this...”

Diana shook, but dutifully sucked it up and held out her hands for his inspection. 

“I didn’t - I didn’t see anything.”

Sam struggled with himself. The woman had rope burns on her wrists. She fit the spirits MO. She was in danger. This was their job. Yet, he didn’t want to put Dean in jeopardy. Unfortunately, this was a hunt, and Diana was about to become a victim. And he knew, he just knew, that if he asked her to release him, she wouldn't believe another word out of his mouth.

It was between the job and Dean.

With a sigh. He relented. They had both signed up for this. And they both had a signal for this. 

Even if he only had a few hours left in this interrogation room. The lawyer had promised 12 more hours to get him released, but Sam knows the legal system. And he was a murder suspect. He wasn’t walking out that door for anything less than the complete 48 hours.

“Go to the park.” Sam found himself saying as he fiddled with a folder. “Go to the bench on the north side. The word you want to say is Iroquois. You just have to say it, alright? Say the word, and someone will come to help you,”

“... Are you... are you giving up your brother?” She asked in disbelief. Confused, because Sam had been adamant about Dean being dead.

Sam didn’t say anything. Only gave her a rather pointed glare.

“You are in danger. I’d suggest hurrying.”

It said a lot that she immediately got up and left.


	9. Perhaps a Little Unusual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana comes to Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna post this this weekend, but I am not feeling all that great and came home from work early - so! You guys get an early update!

Dean was laying on his jacket that he’d transformed out of, waiting for something to give. He continued to try and figure out DANASHULPS, but couldn’t for the life of him. He thought it might be an anagram, but he realized he wasn’t that great at mind games. A piece of paper would have been nice, but he didn’t want to try out hands for size, in case something went wrong and they had an APB out for his arrest. He was supposed to be dead, but with his luck...

**Ans ashulpd.**

**Ash anlpdus.**

**Push aldus.**

_ Damnit. _ It was no use. Dean huffed and laid his head on his paws. He wasn’t getting  **anywhere** .

It was then that he heard:

“Iroquois.”

He perked up. It was their codeword! Except it wasn’t Sam’s voice. It wasn’t a man’s voice at all. It was a... a woman - Dean perked his ears up -   _ was that the detective that had arrested Sam?  _ Her voice was soft, a whisper like she was nervous.

Dean poked his head out of the bushes towards the bench to see the woman officer sitting, stiff as a board, looking nervously around the park. Her hands were fiddling with a necklace over her shirt. She looked like a mess, but not really outwardly. It was just a sense about it all. About her.

And she knew the code word, which meant Sam had sent her.

She repeated the word.

That was the nail in the coffin for Dean and he quickly shook himself out, transformed, and shrugged on his jacket. 

“So,” Dean said as he stopped next to the bench. The woman jerked to look at him. “You called?”

“Dean Winchester.” She breathed. 

He sat next to her. “Maybe. Now, what can I do for you...?”

She looked hesitant but clearly decided that she was in for it already. “Diana Ballard.”

Fiddling with her necklace, she told him exactly what Sam had said to her. It came out like most stories did. Rushed, confused, and just generally unbelieving. She showed him her wrists. The entire time she shook. Seeing a spirit for the first time could make anyone piss themselves.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Dean murmured to himself as he reviewed everything. “Did Sam say anything else?”

“Uhm, he said... Ashland street?”

“Ashland?” Dean asked, seeing the letters from Danashulps. “It’s a street?”

“Yeah, does that mean anything to you?”

Dean nodded and rose from his seated position. That was a pretty big clue.

“Come on, we’ve got to go back to our motel.”

She dug in her heels.

“Whoah, I’m not going anywhere with you. Not until I get some answers.” Diana demanded, backing up from him.

The familiar sighed, and glared half-heartedly at the woman.

“Alright, listen,” Dean told her. “I’m not going to sugar coat this. The last people to see this spirit, they died. Karen and Tony Giles died because of this spirit. Now, it’s after you.” 

The detective was already pretty pale, but now she was white.

“We don’t have time for you to go about questioning me. You trusted Sam enough to come find me, now give me the benefit of the doubt.”

She looked like she wanted to give him anything but.

“Please,” He pleaded, and she softened slightly. “We don’t know how much time we’ve got.” 

The detective finally relented.

“Fine. Where is it?”

* * *

Sam still had papers and images around his laptop from where he and Dean had been researching the night before. So when they arrived at the motel, Dean took his brothers place to begin again. Diana took one look at everything Dean was scrounging up and snatched up a few photos.

“How'd you get those? Those are from crime scenes, and booking photos.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean told her. “Plus, they’re probably useless. Sam was just looking for any missing persons reports. If you find any crime scene photos, you can ignore them - we hadn’t gotten far.”

Diana went through first one pile, then the next. Each piece of paper she picked up made her brow furrow deeply as Dean sat and started looking into Ashland street. Missing persons, violent deaths, the works.

“You... you and your brother did all of this?” She asked.

Dean was too distracted to notice she’d said ‘brother.’

“Mostly Sam,” He conceded, not without a hint of pride. “He’s the brains behind our operation here.”

“This is good police work,” Diana told him.

Dean spared her a momentary look to give a shit-eating smile as if saying, ‘I know’, before he turned the computer towards her.

“Here. I’ve got pulled up in separate tabs pictures of different people, tell me if one of them is our girl.”

As she went to work, trying to remember the face that had come at her in the bathroom, Dean stretched. This was not his preferred position for this kind of work. He much would have rather read from old, musty books as he laid on his bed then sit upright and proper on the laptop. Not to mention Sam would have killed him for touching his precious technology.

“This is her!” Diana said excitedly. Dean perked up as she turned the computer back to him.

Dean punched a few keys and clicked on the right links. He read aloud.

“Claire Becker? Twenty eight years old, disappeared about eight or nine months ago.”

The detective was up and pacing. “But I don't even know her.” She exclaimed, biting her thumb. “I mean, why would she come after me? Why me? Why Tony and Karen?”

Continuing reading out the important bits, Dean told Diana, “Well, before her death, she was arrested twice.” 

“What for?”

“For dealing heroin... You ever work narcotics?”

With a frown she nodded. “Yeah, Pete and I did. Before Homicide.”

“Well...” Dean turned to her. “You ever bust her?”

“Not that I remember.”

Well that was odd. Sam might have just let it slide, but that was really an odd statement. Baltimore was far from a small town, but it wasn’t huge either. If a cop worked narcotics, they knew the people they needed to watch out for. And seeing as Claire had clearly been a somewhat repeat offender...

It stunk to Dean.

“It says that she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place, didn't find anything.” 

And now it reeked. Dean wasn’t sure of what yet. Coverup? Mob? Gang violence? 

With heroin it could have been any of the above or a combination. 

“Guess we gotta check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body.”

Dean closed the laptop with finality as he got up off his ass to grab his jacket. This was the part he was good at, after all. Being a bloodhound. Sniffing out the spirits. If he had had more time and Diana’s life wasn’t on the line, he would have taken his time to just roam the town as a dog.

“Wait - what?” Diana was still far behind him.

“Well, we gotta salt and burn her bones. It's the only way to put her spirit to rest.”

“Of course it is.”

Dean was honestly impressed the woman had stayed with him this far.

* * *

“So... Saint Louis.” Diana said as they took the impala over to Ashland street.

Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Yeah?”

“Was that a spirit, too?”

_ Cute, _ Dean thought with an eyeroll. But Diana felt... shocked, still. She was absorbing everything and had yet to make a real go of the facts. She hadn’t gone running yet, so Dean thought,  _ what the hell? _

“Sweetheart, that was a shapeshifter.” He checked his mirror. “Took my face, turned into me, made sure to get caught as me so that no matter what I’d be burned anywhere I went. Luckily we managed to gank him when he was still in my skin, so that was one thing we didn’t have to worry about. The government thinks I’m dead.” 

Diana just stared out the corner of her eye at him. “That... that seems like a lot of trouble just to hurt you.”

“Not really,” Dean gave her a smile. “Shapeshifters just have to ruin your life once. From then on, the government does the rest.”

“I meant, specifically, for  **you** .”

“My brother and I... we’re hunters.” Dean had explained what he and his family did so many times, he had a way to do it for just about every situation. Though, being a wanted murderer with a cop sitting passenger seat was new. “This is what we do. This side of the mississippi we’re the most dangerous things those monsters have to worry about.”

“And you do it, too, don’t you? You just... you hunt and kill monsters?”

“You have your job, I have mine,” Dean told her simply, hoping the conversation stopped then.

Thankfully, she stopped with the third-degree and sat quietly as they parked. 

“2911.” Dean announced as he looked to the old decrepit, abandoned building. “Looks like the kind of place to dump a body.” 

Diana agreed.

Together they exited the car and entered the building. Dean hoped this would be a simple salt and burn, but how this year had been going - he’d settle for just saving this detective from certain death, no matter which way it came.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” The woman cop asked Dean as they both turned on their flashlights.

Dean did it for her benefit, seeing as he didn’t need it anymore.

Taking a deep sniff through his nose, he tried to pinpoint the old smell of blood hidden under dust, rot, and decay. It took him a few sniffs, even turning halfway around, before he picked up a trail leading farther into the house. Beckoning for Diana to follow him, he told her what she wanted to know as they walked.

“If Claire died here, we’re looking for a place somebody might have stashed a body. False wall. Squeaky floorboards. New paint.”

He said the last point for a giggle but Diana took him immensely seriously. Even split from him. Dean kept track of her by her footsteps. Listened to her state by her heartbeat. For the first few minutes, everything was going just fine. He smelled a faint ghost-like smell, but it was still that odd almost-ghost smell. Just this side of ectoplasm.

“Dean!” Diana screamed suddenly as her heartbeat took a jog. “DEAN!”

Dean sprinted to her. She had gotten to the lower floor, to the eastside of the house, but Dean was quick. Taking the stairs two at a time he finally saw her, standing against a wall.

“Hey! Hey, I'm here, what is it? What happened?“ Dean demanded, his nose picking up the fresh smell of almost-ghost.

“Claire...” Diana murmured as she pointed at the spot on the wall.

Dean’s brow furrowed as he looked every which way, expecting an attack. Maybe only Diana could see her?

“Where?” Dean demanded.

“She, she was here.”

“Did she attack you?”

“No. No, she was just like, reaching out to me.” Diana denied it, almost defended the spirit. “She was over there by the window.”

Dean frowned severely as he saw some faint light from where a window might be.

“Here, help me move this.” Diana commanded him, as she went over to the shelving unit that was blocking the window.

When it is all moved, everything falls into sharp relief. On the wall, illuminated by the street lamp outside, are the letters D-A-N-A-S-H-U-L-P-S. Except, it's not a person's name, it's a business name. Which meant... the spirit was seeing this constantly. Constantly haunted by its death-place.

Dean shivered as he tried to smell death through the mold, dust, and rotting wood.

“Our mystery word, explained,” Diana muttered to herself as she stared at the wall.

It took Dean a few seconds more, but he smelled it. Taking a few more steps towards the wall, the smell became even more potent. He would bet his left ass-cheek they were about to find Claire Becker. Dean laid a hand against the brick wall and felt a wave of  **sadness** the likes he’d not felt since his father had died rush over him. It was bereft of any comfort. It overflowed him and it wasn’t until Diana called to him that he realized he was  _ crying _ .

“Hey!” She called, grabbing him firmly by the shoulder and yanking him back from the wall.

“Sorry,” Dean apologized, though he knew not why, as he turned away to brush the tears from his face. “I don’t - That’s never happened before.”

“You alright?” Diana asked, cautiously, eyes darting to the wall and back. “Did... Did Claire do something to you?”

“No clue,” Dean dismissed easily enough as he straightened up. “But she’s behind that wall. I’d bet my left arm.”

Shoving the crying-incident to the back of his mind, he followed his words with action. Making sure his elbow was covered, he went at the brick wall to bring it down. It didn’t take long to make a hole and what came through the hole cemented any doubt Dean had had. The wave of rot that escaped with the stale air made Dean pause for only a second.

“Got her.” Dean said, as he continued pulling brick after brick after filler and plaster from the wall. 

When he got about halfway done, he found the burlap sack. 

“You know,” he said after a moment of digging. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Diana said, deadpanned. “Well, you are digging up a corpse.”

He gave her a roguish smile as he kept pounding the bricks. “Naww, that’s just another part of the job.”

Her heart gave a little tick but she remained calm. 

“Then what?”

“No vengeful spirit I've ever wasted has lead me to their own body... so why the hell would Claire lead us to her remains?” It was a conundrum. One he hoped to figure out by looking at the body. “It doesn't make any sense.”

“Here, help me out.”

Another few moments of working around the hole and his own stature, and help from Diana, he got the sack out of the wall. When Diana and he uncovered it, they found the remains of Claire Becker, arms crossed, damn near skeletal. Preserved, in a way.

_ Well. This was making no sense. _ Dean hadn’t been around very many spirits who wanted their bodies found... The few times it was a bit of a catch 22 situation. Two spirits, one vengeful and the other wanting to stop the other spirit. Always ended with salted and burnt bones, but it was still an anomaly.

Softly, very aware that this had once been a human, Dean touched the bodies wrists. They’d been bound and on the dessicated flesh were dark bruise marks. She’d been tied up.

“Her wrists. Yeah, they'd be bruised just like yours?”

Diana nodded, before abruptly stopping and reaching forward for something in the skeletons shirt. What she pulled forward to finger was a little pendant of a thing. Green stone, with some kind of messianic design. Lots of angles.

“That necklace mean something to you?” Dean asked. 

“I've seen it before. It's rare. It was custom made over on Carson street.”

Then she was reaching into her own shirt to produce a matching necklace.

“I have one just like it. Pete gave it to me.”

And just like that, the world righted himself and he understood. It was like someone had shined a spotlight in his memories. It was like putting together a four piece puzzle with directions.

“Yeah, that’d do it,” Dean said as he dusted off his knees and rose to a standing position. “This is all starting to come together.”

Diana was still on the ground next to the dead body. “I’m sorry?”

“We’ve had it all wrong,” Dean told her as he pulled out his phone to check the time. It had been about twenty or so hours since Sam had been arrested. “You see, Claire’s not a vengeful spirit, she's a  **death** omen.” 

Diana stared at him blankly.

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve had this wrong the whole time. Claire's not killing anyone. She's trying to  _ warn _ them.” Diana looked to the corpse as if asking her opinion. Getting none, she turned her disbelieving eyes to Dean, who rolled his own. Explanation time. “See, sometimes spirits, they don't want vengeance, they want justice. Which is why she led us here in the first place. She wants us to know who her killer is.”

“Now, Diana, how much you know about that partner of yours?”

Dean gave her time to think about that. But it didn’t take long for the detective to stiffen and mutter.

“... oh my god.” 

“Got something?”

“About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup.” She told Dean, her hands clenching as she hugged herself. “Obviously it was a cop. We never found out who did it. But whoever did it would need someone to fence their product.”

“Meaning Fence,” Dean gestured to the body of Claire Becker. “And your partner was the supplier. Welp. that’s fucked up.”

* * *

The girl had been murdered to keep the Detectives Sheridan from being discovered. It had all seemed so... human.  Such a human response to a human problem.

Dean was always disgusted by what humans could do to humans. He understood it in a way, he was a killer and a murderer by many people's definition, but he just didn’t get why it had to be  _ human _ on  _ human _ ? Why human violence, when there were already plenty of monsters out in the world?

_ I mean,  _ Dean thought to himself as he drove Diana and himself back to the motel. _ You could always just run away. _

It had almost worked for Sam.

Running away was a solid, solid strategy and yet he almost never saw it utilized. At least, not in human violence. They stood their ground, kept weakening their own resolve day by day until they just snapped. Geesh. Do some yoga or something. Killing people wasn’t the answer. Killing monsters, on the other hand, was a great way to pass the time. A time honored tradition, really.

Diana had called the precinct as soon as she had gotten her head around her partner being a murdering sociopath. It took her a little longer than most other officers Dean had known go through the same thing. And there was quite a list, now that he thought about it. Most officers Dean let into the ‘secret’ of monsters and spirits, were all about justice and the american way - but ready to look the other way to protect him and his family. Because they were doing work that the government would never sanction in a million years.

Now that Diana was over it, she was firm, resolute, and laser focused. 

Dean had seen that look before. It was a woman’s stare. The kind of ‘I-am-going-to-fuck-shit-up’ kind of look. It was the look he sometimes got from girls who he’d hooked up with and stretched certain truths - and said girls found out. It was usually followed by a slap. It was the look of a lover scorned.

The call to the station went like this:

“Yes, that’s right, release Sam Winchester.”

_ “Ma’am?” _

“I have new information.” 

_ “Enough to clear him?” _

“The kids story checks and he was just in the right place at the wrong time...”

_ “Sheridan’s gonna be pissed,”  _

“Speaking of my partner... don’t tell him you’ve released the Winchester kid.”

_ “... Diana? What do you - you don’t mean - “ _

“James.”

_ “...Are you sure?” _

“I wish I weren’t.”

_ “Got it Diana,”  _ There was a momentary pause.  _ “And if he finds out we let him go?” _

“Tell him I’m bringing in someone to interrogate. Someone who was found with blood on their hands. Or anything, really.”

_ “Shit, Diana, if what you’re implying is true...” _

“I know.”

There was another pause.

“Sam Winchester is being released as we speak.”

“Thanks, James.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Diana.”

She hung up. 

“ **Fuck** .” 

That was an understatement.

“Sorry your partner has turned out to be such a douchebag...” Dean tried for comfort.

“They released your brother,” Diana told Dean, and Dean politely pretended as if he hadn’t heard her entire conversation. “He’s being let out now.”

“Good.” Dean relaxed for the first time in almost a day. 

“I would suggest both of you leaving as soon as possible.” 

Dean didn't need to be told, but it was nice for people to give a shit about him.

“You got it, Boss.” He said, winking at her. “Hopefully your city won’t have need of us again.”

“And if it does?”

Dean mulled it over. She hadn’t exactly battled anything with him. Their mission had been more of search and destroy, which turned into search and find. He didn’t doubt she could handle herself with human problems, but for the supernatural... Dean took a moment to scrounge around in his breast pocket. He kept slips of paper with numbers written for his various phones. Checking to make sure it was a phone he still had he held it out to her.

“Here,” He said as he handed her one. “You think you got something you don’t know how to deal with... you just call and leave a voicemail. If we don’t get back to you in a week, tops, assume you’re on your own.”

“On my own?”

“We check our messages daily,” Dean told her. “So if we don’t get back to you in a week, that means we’re not checking our messages. And that means we have bigger problems to deal with.”

Probably death. Or demons. Or werewolves. Or vampires. Really anything could take them away from civilization for weeks at a time.

“Got it.” Diana said as they finally pulled up to the motel. Both of them exited the car and there was a moment of awkward standing, before Diana shoved her hand out and firmly shook Dean’s hand. “Thank you for all the help.”

“Thanks for not shooting me on sight,” Dean responded right back.

She gave him a wry grin, before getting into her car to drive off and interrogate her soon to be ex-partner. In both senses of the words. Luckily Dean didn’t have long to wait for Sam to appear. The precinct wasn’t far from the motel and Sam had long legs.

“You back yet Dean?”

Still, Dean heard him about a half a mile away. With a smile, he made his way into the motel room to turn into his dog form to communicate with Sam. 

_ :Glad to be a free man again?: _

“Jesus!” Sam cursed, but Dean could only hear him speaking. “Alright, well that answers that question. How are you doing? Did you save the detective?”

_ :You bet your ass I did. And get this, not a vengeful spirit, but a  _ **_death_ ** _ omen.: _

“I fucking missed a death omen?” Sam whisper shouted at himself. Clearly beating himself up. “Damnit. So, wait, that means that - “

_ :Wasn’t the spirits doing. It gets better, Sam.: _ Dean smiled as he told Sam all about the what he and the detective had accomplished. He kept nothing out, maybe embellishing a little, but hey, he was allowed that, wasn’t he? He finished right when Sam stopped in front of the door.

: _ I gave her our number in case she needs us again  _ \-  _ It’s unlocked. _ : He told him smugly, stretching out on his bed. 

“I’m impressed, Dean,” Sam said as he threw his jacket on the back of the chair in the kitchenette. “Now, can we go eat? I’m starved.”

Dean was back to Dean in a minute.

“I saw this  **great** burger place about three miles down the freeway,” Dean was already jabbering as he grabbed his keys from his pocket. “It smelled like the best kind of burgers.”

“Greasy?” Sam questioned, and even if he was tired he still smiled.

“Of course,” Dean flashed him a smile as they locked up.

It wasn’t until after they started walking to the car that Dean realized he could have just  _ called  _ Sam...

* * *

Dean stared at himself in the mirror, tried to compare the face he saw to the face from his memories.

In and out. He tells himself to breath.

It wasn’t often he stared at himself, and even with his Familiar senses and better memory and even though people thought he was vain (he was, but that just meant he knew he was attractive, didn’t need to confirm it 6 times a day); he didn’t care to stare at his face. Because if he did, he’d see things. 

He’d start complicating things. 

Dean was a soldier. He followed orders. That’s what he  **did** . His father had been his commanding officer more often than his parent. That was just a fact of life. Dean had accepted any kind of support in his life, and it just so happened to come from his father’s lack of parental feelings and falling back on military leanings. John trained him. John commanded him. Dean obeyed. Often without ever opening his mouth to question; often without thinking to question it. Questioning was Sam’s job. Dean’s job was to kill.

Dean was a weapon, a damn good one too, and he  _ knew _ it. 

_ What other fourteen year old had killed a werewolf with a silver knife? What whole family saved innocent people? What other kid got to hang out with cold-blooded monster-killers and share a beer or two after a successful hunt? What other kid got to learn how to burn a body with whatever material you have available? _

Dean was a soldier; he knew it.

He embraced it. It gave him purpose. His dad had said he was a soldier, and he took it at face value. 

In and out.

Soldiers had purpose. Dean had purpose. 

Except... he doesn’t. Not anymore. Somewhere along the way, the line has been blurred; somewhere along the way he’s stopped being a soldier. Fighting had turned from saving innocents into survival. Hunting had turned into more of a hobby, a choice, rather than a lifestyle. Somewhere in the past year, something had changed. And Dean knows exactly when it had begun, but he doesn’t know where it really  _ began _ to bleed into the rest of his life.

Didn’t know when he stopped fighting, however unconsciously.

Didn’t know the exact second. Or day. Or anything. He just knows what is the catalyst:  **_Sam_ ** .

Sam doesn’t realize the power he has over Dean. He’s oblivious. 

It’s the only saving grace to this entire situation once Dean realizes what the hell even is  _ happening _ .

When they hunt, he commands; Dean obeys. When they fight, Dean’s found himself differing to his brother’s judgement. Hunting locations used to be discussed between them, but Dean finds that he gives Sam’s picks more weight than his own.  _ Hell _ , Dean had even caught himself not meeting his brother’s eye when he was particularly pissed. And he’s not afraid, no, it’s not that... it’s something else that makes him keep his eyes away from his face.

Sam’s more than just his person, his brother, his hunting partner... 

Dean doesn’t know what to call this new thing they have. But it’s more than every single other title, or relationship, he can think of to describe it.

He knows when he realized it. The first time. Really sat down and thought about it. 

It’s a tuesday. Sam asks him to hand him something. And Dean does. No commentary, no snarking, no teasing him about how he could have just reached out and grabbed it himself. No teasing about how lazy he is. Just - compliance. It starts with a frown as Dean keeps his hand where Sam had plucked the object out of his palm. It starts as Dean tries to remember the last time he had ever really teased or prodded, or poked his brother into outrage - he doesn’t remember.

For the first heart-stopping moment, he recognized his own thoughts for what they are.

How long had it been since he had taken charge? Took lead and grabbed the monster by the horns? How long had it been since he drove off, all by himself for a long drive? How often did he take a break from Sam and go be his own  **person** ?

Dean was finding the numbers, when he tried to calculate them, to be miniscule. Tiny. Non-existent in some cases.

“Hey, Dean, you okay?” Sam asked him as Dean had near-enough to a panic attack.

In and out.

He doesn’t squeak, but it’s a near thing. He has to clear his voice before the words he’s trying to form come out of his mouth in a way that makes sense.

“I’m fine.”

Sam doesn’t believe him, Dean knows by the side-eye, but Sam also doesn’t know he has the power to ask Dean and get an answer. And Dean knows now, if Sam were to just open his mouth, ask him what’s really wrong, Dean would buckle and cave as if it were dad commanding it.

But it’s not dad. It’s Sam.

And Dean doesn’t know yet, if that’s better.

But Sam leaves it. And Dean knows, at least, he can live with that. One breath at a time. 

In and out. 


	10. Crossroading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam stumble upon two people who have sold their soul to a demon, and one who killed themselves as a sort of 'fuck you'.   
> Sam decides they're going to save the two idiots. Both of them.  
> Dean really wishes he'd never stepped foot in this town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the new tags and warnings. Nothing happens to Sam or Dean, or any other main character but it has to be said.  
> With that out of the way, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter :) New things are happening, and small little changes are beginning to twist and turn this new world into something... new ;D  
> I actually had like... three directions for this chapter, but have decided to push some of the changes/plot to another chapter that won't be coming up for a while. Slow burn, but for plot. What would that even be called... slop? -sheepish smile- #sorryNotSorry. Anyways!   
> Enjoy, please!

He can’t sleep, and it’s enough of a nuisance that he refuses to just lay in bed doing nothing about it.

It was one of his darker days. The kind of days that were hard to get up in the morning, where everything felt heavy and nothing felt worthwhile. Where he felt disgust for his changed body in every moment he breathed. The only thing he really wanted to do was get away. After his revelation of Sam’s unique control of his life - Dean had been having a hard time dealing.  With his ears as sensitive as they were, and his nose especially keen; he couldn’t stay asleep for longer than a few hours. Sometimes it was noisy neighbors, or a particularly ugly smell, or his own mind playing dirty dirty tricks on him - but without fail, Dean slept less than he ever had before but seemed to function just fine. 

So he had to find a way to control something in his life whether it be his non-existent sleep schedule or his boredom. Since he was clear he had no control on his new apparent submission in life.

It just so happened the solution came like this:

Dean roamed. 

When he couldn’t sleep, and the demons in his head were somehow worse than the demons outside, he would take off (usually leaving a note, often not) to get some fresh air. Now, the solution to all his problems came in his roamings.

Early in the mornings, most of the world was in a sort of half-awake-half-dead state. The air was calm, the towns were silent, and the air was free from its usual human-smells. And he started to listen, and to see, and to smell - all things that were now starting to settle inside him like he was settling in his skin - and he made it a game.

It was like an equation. 

At first, he had left to simply stretch his legs and maybe get some urban training in - work his doggie-body out. His nose was keen still, and prone to distractions. Or it was so one-sided focused Dean felt like he was a smell-seeking missile. It became something of a challenge for Dean: to try and focus on one scent and block the others out, but only the scent he choose. Or only a sound he heard. Or an emotion-scent that he could follow back to a person. 

It helped him become more comfortable in his own skin. 

Dean made everything he had done in doggie-Dean form a  **game** . A little challenge. A wager against himself. Something to keep him in tip-top shape. When he started to gamify his existence, then his mornings went from  _ good  _ to  **_brilliant_ ** . His first time, he tried to find where a poodle lived. He succeeded. The next time, he tried to find an overweight man with a girlfriend. He managed to find four. It was small things he looked for. It was the little spikes of activity. A hive of bees. A bunny warren. A strip club. A library that wasn’t associated with a college. A mother calming a wailing child with a lullaby. A sleeping baby about to awaken. A child on the playground with a scraped knee from the night before.

A month of this and he settled even more - while his sleep still eluded him.

Then he started getting even more specific. 

Dean tried to hear a blonde jewish man who was going to have a heart attack within a year, based on research he’d done on the internet, the heart was more labored and (from his own research) the man smelled like death. But not... death-death, more of an echo. Like dirty and calamity, and just an edge of ache. Jewish wasn’ts smelled (unless it was shabbat), but rather heard. That had taken a few hours and since then... well, he’d been  **hooked** . Setting a challenge, completing the challenge. It was a heady kind of power that Dean was realizing he wielded. 

His nose was sharp. His eyes were keen. His ears were weaponizing each and every day. 

_ (Away from Sam, he obeyed nothing. No one.) _

He was weaponizing himself further each and every day.

It took half a month. Then for the first time, in a long time, he imagined that he could see what his dad had seen in him. 

Potential.

So, every day he went out, trying to find the juiciest piece of gossip, or maybe a mugging in progress and arrive just in time to stop it, or, one of his more specific requests. Today he was looking for a suicidal person who had eaten chinese the night before. That or anything interesting really. He’d failed his last two challenges (a nigerian native who had moved to be closer to a significant other in Ohio and a mother of five who was lactose intolerant respectively), and he was feeling the need to just win something. So he set his sights slightly lower.

A demon.

With demons, they either were in town or they weren’t. And Dean didn’t know if he could even track a week old demon, so as long as it was still in town - he’d be golden. Fighting a Demon on his own was out of the question, Dean knew, but it was a challenge. It wasn’t supposed to be easy.

Today started out like any other. 

He woke before Sam, who still snored into his pillow like a chainsaw, drooling onto his pillow, and dressed. 

_ (You should ask him to come. Dean ignored that thought. What would he do while Dean was off doing doggie-things?) _

Clipped his collar on; heleft. He usually found a nearby park or the closest set of bushes to transform in, and today he took his time. When he finally went doggie-Dean, he was well on his way to the center of the town.

Nose to the grindstone Dean set to work in the rather large Kansas city of Salina. He had a grid pattern established for searching for scents, for listening to heartbeats and for other indicators (funny walk, labored breathing, etc), and he was getting pretty efficient at hunting. Demons he had yet to get a good feel on. They were... so inhuman as to have an entirely different set of rules for their smells, their emotions, and their sounds. And, today, he wasn’t having much luck, even after an hour of wandering. 

No city was completely clean of demon, Dean knew. Though they always seemed to scram when he and his brother showed up to town. Unless they were in town specifically to tussle with the brothers. But that hadn’t happened in a while... not since yellow eyes. It was a little disconcerting, but Dean tried to fight through his brain which told him, logically, that no Demon would be here, and his heart which told him to never stop looking.

It was as he was passing by a set of newly build skyscrapers, still with the wrapping on and fences up from construction, that he heard the faintest heartbeat, followed by a sob, words spoken and Dean was still trying to figure them out - when a whistling came. Like a rock through the air. The whistle was turning sharper.

For a moment, Dean didn’t understand what was happening. Curious, a little dumbfounded, he looked upwards just in time to see a man jump from a floor near the top of the giant building. It was like watching an ant try to fly. Slowly, that ant grew bigger and bigger the closer to the ground it came. The dog familiar could only watch without blinking as the man fell.

Dean’s heart stopped as he realized this man was committing suicide. 

Unfortunately for Dean, and for the man, the ride down was a long one. Nearly ten seconds. And Dean was privy to his final thoughts, his final screams, his final words.

“I won’t give that  **dog** the satisfacti - “

Dean looked away just in time, but it did nothing for his ears. 

He heard it all. Heard the splat. Heard the bones cracking, the bones snapping, flesh exploding, things flying. It had a sound like a watermelon exploding, a gun going off, and meat slapping. Gruesome. Dean knew gross, and this was definitely gross.

For a moment, a long moment, the world is calm. The violence it has just created, has just witnessed, is a single lone incident. And then, Dean hears someone else scream. Another. Just short bursts of sound as the sound of footsteps rush to the dead man’s aid.  _ It’s no use, _ Dean thinks blankly. There was no survival for something like that. He smells nothing. Perhaps fear, but that's par for the course.

With his stomach turning and his mouth clamped shut on the urge to vomit, Dean turned tail and decided that he didn’t want to have a challenge today. Demon or not, they could have their win.

Though, if Dean was petty, he’d say he’d found a demon. He’d found a demon alright.

* * *

Sam was up when he arrived back to the motel with coffee and bagels for three. Extra never hurt.

“You’re back early,” Sam yawned as he stretched, combing his fingers through his hair.

_ Ah. So he had noticed, _ Dean thought dispassionately. The scene he had seen only moments before still fresh, still seared into his brain. If he closed his eyes, he could hear with perfect clarity the moment the man’s head had hit pavement and then exploded. Ugh. The sound was just plain weird. So heightened...

“Yeah.” Dean said as he tossed Sam his bag. The younger brother barely caught it as Dean shuffled into the room and flopped onto the chair at the motel kitchenette. His thoughts were quiet, in a way, in contemplation. The shock had worn off. His brain is functioning again. The world is right.

It’s not like he’s not intimately familiar with death. It’s just that... he can usually do something about it all. It’s not often he’s completely useless. Suicides were hard. They were stupid, and yet people chose the one way to go, by their own hands,  **that** Dean could not understand.

Well. He could understand it. He just didn’t understand how they could go  _ through  _ with it. Didn’t they have families? Didn’t they realize that the cowards way out wasn’t the way to go? Didn’t they... Dean stopped, not feeling up to questioning himself. He felt tired, again, so world weary and worn.

“Everything alright?” Sam asked him as he set down his coffee. Watching Dean’s placidity.

“Hmm?” Dean looked up from the floor and their eyes met. 

“You’re awfully quiet,”

With a kind of nonchalance that he wasn’t feeling he said: “Just saw a guy commit suicide. I was... a little closer than I wanted to be.”

Sam’s mouth dropped.

“What?!” He jumped up. “What do you mean you saw a guy commit suicide? Like... like with a gun? From a building.”

“Jumper,” Dean said, watching Sam wearily for a hug. Ever since Dean still sometimes slept at Sam’s feet or curled up next to him, he initiated human-touches more often. Which still wigged Dean out. As a dog it was fine, it was necessary sometimes; as a human it was still a no-no. “Yeah. It was kind of weird though -”

“Weird suicide?” Sam said sarcastically.

Dean glared at him. “Yeah, it was what he said.”

“... you heard him from the top of the building?”

“More like on the way down.”

Sam looked faintly nauseous. 

“Alright. What’d he say?”

“He said... something about not giving a dog satisfaction?”

Sam only raised a brow as he flopped back to his chair, clearly unwelcome to try any kind of comfort with Dean. “I’ll check it out. You got an address?”

And Dean answered because he wanted to, not because he needed to.

* * *

With the information that Sam had asked for given, the younger brother had set to work. Sometimes an address was better than just about anything else they’d get, and in this case, it was. It didn’t take long. A few minutes until Sam was in the zone, so Dean settled in to wait. He channel surfed a little, but didn’t find anything interesting or appropriate. Unless you called ‘the virgin suicides’ appropriate, which Dean  **did not** . But only because the virgins in question weren’t the type he wanted to get to know.

Dean settled for some car special and watched the tv with half-a-mind.

_ Was there really a case here? _ Dean questioned himself. He hadn’t smelled anything off. Nor had he heard anything. It was all just... circumstance. A weird suicide. There was nothing here. Dean tried to convince himself more as he watched a mechanic explain the engine he was working on and morosely remembered the last sound the man had made: A wheezing of death.

He looked at Sam a few times, watching him frown in concentration, and couldn’t help but remembered to watch every one of their interactions for too much complacency. Too much obedience. Too much following, rather than leading.

When Sam finally pulled himself away from his computer to breath, Dean demanded from his perch on his bed. “Well?”

Sam smelled a little nervous.  “The guy called animal control a few days ago.”

“Animal control?” Dean echoed, turning more fully towards him. “So... wait, there  **was** a dog?”

If there was, specifically, a dog. Then... then that changed things. It changed a lot of things. Because that was one of the weirdest things to jump off a building for it. 

“There was... something.” Sam conceded. “I just got the call transcripts. Gimmie a second, Dean.”

Dean did just that, but also walked over to read-over his shoulders. He stood hunched for a moment as he finished before Sam, shaking his head. “Well,” 

Sam beat him to the punch. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“He said it right there.” Dean jabbed the paper with his finger. “Black Dog.” 

**_Black dog_ ** _. Why’d it have to be a Black Dog?  _ Dean didn’t exactly hate this monster more than others, it was just - well, he knew next to nothing about them. He’d never met someone target by a Black Dog. Let alone a someone saved from certain death. They were the one hit wonders of the monster communities. They killed once and then disappeared.

They were human, almost, in their murders.

“You know the lore?”

Sam nodded.  _ Of course you do,  _ Dean said to himself as he settled in to hear his brothers explanation.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve looked into Black Dogs.” Sam told him, cautiously. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I know.”

That threw Sam for a loop.

“Wait... You do?”

“You’re not as subtle as you think,” Dean told him point black. “Those first few months when I was a dog - You looked up anything to do with dogs. Black Dogs were a stretch, even for you and me, especially given my coloring, but I knew you wouldn’t leave any stone unturned.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, with a blush. “Alright, well, moving on. Two different schools of thought. One is that they are spirit animals, death omens, who knows what else people think spirit animals are used for.”

“And the second?”

“... Well, they think they’re hellhounds.”

Dean blinked stupidly. “Wait... you mean like - sell your soul for unlimited power kind of hellhounds?”

“Yup.”

Dean glared at Sam.

“... I went for a  _ jog _ .”

Sam couldn’t keep in the laugh at how betrayed Dean looked.

* * *

When Sam woke up that morning, he hadn’t thought anything. He didn’t necessarily take his time waking up. He was a go-getter. Once his eyes were open, he was ready for the day. Perhaps a little groggy from sleep, but he was up and at’em with the best of them. Coffee erased the sleep of sin.

He had awoken to find Dean missing (not a surprise), and his car keys lying on the kitchen table (also not a surprise), and the smell of gunpowder too overwhelming to stomach (... yeah, alright, that was a surprise). Dean had gone to bed the same time Sam had. Sam  **knew** because he was snoring well before Sam had even tucked himself in.

_ When had Dean had the time to clean and re-up on their ammo? _ Sam questioned groggily.

Not to say Sam was  _ entirely _ involved in his brother’s life, they did lead them separately, but one tended to figure someone out after being trapped in a car eighteen plus hours a day. And Dean wasn’t grouchy, like he would be if he hadn’t been getting his beauty rest. Sam would know that, for sure. He had a tendency to actually snarl at him (in both forms) when he was tired. Short tempered, quick to glare and be silent, and hungry for just about any greasy food they could find. So this whole night-life of his... 

It confused Sam. He thought with the curse being more settled, that they wouldn’t have any more surprises. (He was in denial, he knew that, but come on). But Dean just kept  _ changing _ . With each passing week, something new popped up. His ears grew more sensitive. He learned how to identify a number of trees by their smell alone. He was learning. And growing more confident in himself.

And with that, Dean was really beginning to be... well be Dean again.

It made Sam smile. Uneasily of course, because, Dean being Dean was great. For him. 

The rest of the world?

They’d have to see.

The changes in his brother were pretty noticeable, so when he had come back from wherever it was he went, looking for all the world like he’d just seen someone shoot a puppy Sam had jumped to questioning, forgetting to interrogate Dean over his apparent insomnia. And, unfortunately, it was much worse than a kicked puppy. Dean had seen someone, a normal human, commit suicide. 

Which lead them here.

Thomas Riviera. The deceased partner. Interviewing him. Sam wouldn’t know until afterwards if there was anything off with the man, when Dean informed him of his smell. As it was, he wasn’t cursed so he had to make due with the good old human-way of interrogation. Kindly.

“He was a flat-out genius.” The man was saying, gesturing widely. “I mean, I'm  _ capable _ , but next to him, I... and it wasn't always that way, either.”

Sam saw Dean physically perk up. “No?”

The man shook his head, mouth set into a crooked line. “You wanna know the truth?” 

Both of them nodded.

“There was a time where he couldn't even design a pup tent.” There was bitterness, that much Sam could tell. He wasn’t sure if it was enough to murder... or sick a hellhound on somebody. However one did that. “Hell, ten years ago he's working as a bartender at this place called Lloyds. A complete dive.” 

“What changed?” Sam asked.

“You got me.” The man said, staring sadly around at everything around him. He started to explain how his partner had started a business, getting a huge contract, and then just blowing everyone away with his skills and his ingenuity. How overnight, practically, the man went from living in a van by the river to living in his own penthouse. Rags to literally riches. 

He ended his interview by scoffing and saying, “It's funny. True geniuses, they seem to die young, don't they? To have that kind of talent? Why... why just throw it away?”

The way he said it... the way it was almost dismissive, how he was truly struck by the fact, it sent chills down Sam’s spine.

And not the good ones, neither.

“The guy's been in the bottom of his cup since the dude died,” Dean told Sam as they left. With one hand undoing his tie and pulling it free, he talked. “The guy didn’t smell fishy, no demon or sulphur smells. Nothing bloody, either. He didn’t lie or try to hide the truth. His heartbeat was erratic, but I’ll give him that one. His business partner just died.”

“So we got nothing?”

Dean smiled roguishly. “We still have animal services.”

“What,” Sam said with an eye roll. “You want me to put you in the puppy-pound?”

His brother’s smile fell from his face as he shoved him and stomped away. Sam smiled, though, knowing the jab would earn him one in return. But it was just too good an opportunity to pass up. It had been a while since their prank war... maybe now was the perfect time to start again. 

* * *

Except that was a bust, too.

“Alright,” Sam huffed. “I got nothing,”

Dean drummed his nails along the arm on his baby. His senses wide open, as he lost himself in his own mind. They had a list of people who had called in about dogs, but they had already been to fifteen of the names on the list. All busts. Four left wasn’t looking promising.

“Let’s keep going,” Dean prompted. “We have four more names,”

Sam sighed, but started the car. “Whatever you say, Dean,” and he pulled off the side into traffic. 

It was quiet for only a few minutes. The place they were going to not far away, but still not next door. 

“You really think it’s a hellhound?” Sam asked. “Not just some dog?”

“I didn’t smell a thing, Sammie,” He snorted, turning his head from the window to Sam. “Everywhere we’ve gone... I haven’t smelled a thing off. Except, there is something completely wack happening. Now you tell me, that seem normal to you?”

Sam stayed silent for that, but he mulled over the words. 

Then, Dr. Sylvia Pearlman’s house. And it was certainly not a bust. Especially as everything just seemed to keep pointing back to that bar. Lloyds. Lloyd, lloyd, lloyd. 

* * *

Standing in the crossroad in front of Lloyds bar, with Yarrow growing around him, Dean felt something sink into the pit of his stomach. Like cold and a rock and slithery - all in one.

It was a Crossroads. A crossroads where demons came and made deals. It smelled of sulphur and new growth, gravelly dirt and fresh grass, and absolutely nothing else. Well, that was a lie, but it wasn’t anything else that mattered. It was nature things. Not... supernatural things. 

“Dean?” Sam asked after their conversation of the flowers and their significance in summoning things.

“Hmm?”

“You alright there?”

Dean’s nose twitched, but still... nothing.

“I can’t smell anything,” Dean finally admitted defeat.

Sam cocked his head. “What? Like your nose is broken?”

Dean shot him a baleful look.

“No, crap for brains, I mean I smell sulphur, and I smell all the things that should be here but then from there it goes... poof. Normal, nothing else.”

“Were you expecting something else?”

Dean shook his head. “Not sure,”

Even inside the bar, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Even when they found the photo. Even when they figured out the next potential victims. Even after everything that happened next. 

* * *

Both Sam and Dean were decent Hunters. Had to be to survive this long. Their whole lives were dedicated to perfecting their craft. Well, mostly. Sam had gone off and had his two-year sabbatical, but now he was in it to win it. Revenge was a powerful motivator and not a day went by that he didn’t wake up to the memory of why he was doing this.

Dean, on the other hand, did his job, because it was his job, and dammit if he was going to fail the one thing he was good at.

Which is why, even though Dean’s nose was as good as useless, they found a lead in one George Darrow. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on a variety of factors, the man didn’t just know what was killing everyone. The man knew, why it was after him, and who else it was going to get.

As Dean and Sam left the man to his death, a bag of goofer dust in their hands, they both realized how in over their heads they were. 

“Hellhounds,” Dean said, shaking his head. He didn’t hid his disgust for the man who had sold his soul and also managed to damn a few more mortal souls to hell. He had summoned the demon, knowing well and good what was going to happen, and hadn’t been able to stop it when it went after others. That was stupidity, along with negligence. There was a reason why when you summoned a demon you had a trap to protect you.

“We’ve got to go talk to the others,”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Really?”

“What?”

“You want to go talk to another idiot that sold their soul?” Dean stared at Sam like he was stupid.

Sam frowned haughty at him. “We have to try.”

Dean shook his head. They really didn’t. 

They found Doctor Sylvia Pearlman, in a hotel room, scared out of her mind. She confirmed that she had sold her soul for ten good years as a surgeon. She said, through big choking sobs, that she still had almost a day left on her deal. Sam’s puppy dog eyes convinced Dean far more than anything else to bring her with them to protect her. They found Evan Hudson, in his house, with shaking hands and tear stains on his collar. Dean could understand and forgive his motives much more than Sylvia's.

He had sold his soul for his wife, after all, who had been dying of cancer. Sold his soul away for ten good solid years.

Dean could... understand if not sympathize.

For the first time, Dean let himself truly contemplate his death. Would Sam try and do something as stupid as sell his soul? Would Dean if the roles were reversed? It was easy, now, to say no. To say never. To say hell no and to hell with everything else. To remember all the people they had had to stop because they did unforgivable, evil things in the name of family. In the name of selfish human nature.

But then Dean looked at Sam, talking with Evan and Sylvia, and his heart caught in his throat, and he realize he was wrong.

He couldn’t say no to Sam. He couldn’t say no to saving him. 

Whirling on his heel, he left the room, stomping out of the house, into the cool night air.

It took Sam five minutes for him to follow.

“Dean?”

Dean didn’t answer, just continued to sit and stare out over the backyard. He traded in his human self for his better furry half as soon as he had left the house, and now he really didn’t want to speak either. His ear flickered as Sam came closer, but he didn’t turn to him.

He was feeling... too raw.

“Penny for your thoughts, dude?” Sam asked, as he plopped down next to him. 

_ :Thoughts are worth at least a few bucks, _ : Dean saidin retaliation, snorting.

“You usually don’t flee a dangerous situation,” Sam said. “So what was that about?”

_ :These people are doomed, Sam,: Dean said. :This is not a fight we can win. You know that, right?: _

“I have a plan Dean,”

He snorted.  _ :That’s nice. And I have a tail. Doesn’t mean we’ll be able to stop hellhounds from dragging their sorry asses to hell.: _

Sam raised brow. 

“Wow, you usually listen before dragging my plan through the mud,”

_ :Hellhounds, Sam,:  _ Dean finally looked at him then. : _ How do you fight a beast, that by all accounts, is invisible, stronger than any man, and vicious?: _

Sam opened his mouth, surprised Dean had been listening to the lore he had been reading off to him.  Or perhaps surprised that Dean wasn’t gung-ho on a monster kill.

_ :Nope. Unless you have a foolproof plan, don’t bother,: _

“I have a foolproof plan,”

Dean snarled at him, but that was the thing. Sam wasn’t lying. He really believed he had a plan that could save these two stupid saps. And worse, he still didn’t know what his commands, what his words, what it all did to Dean. How Dean just wanted to do everything in his power to keep the peace. Dean, with teeth bared, got in his face.

_ :Foolproof, Sam,:  _ Dean snarled.  _ :No wiggle room. Just a win. Just success. Or nothing.: _

“I got it. Just listen, Dean,”

And Dean listened.

* * *

It’s a good plan, Dean has to admit. And pretty foolproof, honestly. It was either a win, or a lose, and it all depended on Dean’s ability to act. Which, lets be honest, wasn’t in question. If Dean could trick a bartender into giving him his money back at the end of the night, he could trick a demon into a devils trap.

So, he did what would have gotten him fed to a werewolf any other night of the year, and summoned a demon.

He knew the mechanics of it all. Box, bits and bobs, and then burying it all in the middle of a crossroad to wait for the demon to waltz it’s ass into the firing line. Just like the stupid George whatever his name was, he didn’t draw a circle to keep the demon in. It might not come to play, if he did.

“Well, well, well,” 

_ Enter stage right, demon,  _ Dean thought to himself, turning around to see a fairly attractive woman. He felt pure disgust at seeing the poor girls meatsuit being used so ruthlessly as the demon flashed red eyes at him. Before, as a human, dealing with demons was decidedly unpleasant. They lied, they were inhumanly strong, and were impossible to sort from a crowd.

Now. As a familiar, Dean can only see the being in front of him as a demon. The smell of decay and rot, the sound of a heartbeat unnaturally slow as if it was being weighed down by rocks, and the lack of emotion being emitted. Oh and those eyes. It was clear, on the demons end, too, that there would be no pretending of Dean as anything other than familiar. 

“Winchester,” The demon said, shaking its head as he walked closer. “Now there’s one for the books,”

Dean didn’t like the surprise that bloomed in his gut, right next to the sudden hesitancy.

“You know me?”

“Everyone knows you,” It smiled. The poor girl’s lips pulling up. “The hunter turned familiar. It’s easy to see. The smell of you,” It made a show of breathing deeply, closing its eyes in ecstasy. Like he was some kind of fresh pie. “Ooohhhh, that’s good.” 

Disturbing didn't begin to cover that reaction. Dean sneered. The demon continued, looking at him with bright red eyes.

“The only thing I don’t know is why you’d be calling me up here,”

A chill ran down his spin.

“I want Evan Hudson and Sylvia Pearlman released from their contracts.” Dean said, pivoting while the demon circled. His original plan had been to bluff his way into a ‘contract’, but now he knew that wasn’t about to work. The demon already knew him. Worse... it had answered the call with that knowledge.

“Hmm,” It looked as if it was thinking about it, before shaking the girls head. “So sorry, puppy. That's not negotiable.”

_ Ugh. Dog jokes. So the demon was one of  _ **_those_ ** _. _ Dean thought. He hadn’t sweetened the pot yet, either. Hopefully that would shut up the demon.

“I'll make it worth your while.”

The demon used its meatsuit to quirk an eyebrow. “Oh really? What are you offering?”

“Me.”

It was quiet in the clearing as the demon stopped a second longer than was perhaps intentional, turned around, crossed its arms to look at him, and cocked its head. It looked Dean over, too. Like he was now on the market, so it needed to see the goods.

“Huh,” It stalked closer. Dean did his best not to flinch as the overwhelming smell of sulfur and dirt and disgusting smells followed. Not decaying smells, though. The meatsuit wasn’t dead. Yet. “You'd sacrifice your life for someone else's?” The demon asked, scoffing. 

Dean nodded.

“Precious,” It’s teeth were far too close to him for his liking. He inched back. “Ha! It’s like poetic justice, innit? Like father, like son,”

Dean froze. 

_ What _ . 

He had his suspicions, of course he did, but nothing concrete. How could he not? When your father, who’s in much better shape than you is saying goodbye, and then keels over of a seeming ‘heart attack’... it makes you connect the dots. And there were many dots to connect. 

“Perhaps not completely, of course,” The demon said, looking Dean over, like - Dean recognized that look. 

It was... hunger. Not like lust, or food hungry; but just pure wanting to possess. It always made Dean’s spine crawl, but this was different. No demon had ever really looked at him with anything more than that fake mask of humanity, disgust perhaps, and not a small amount of superiority. This. This was different, and for the first time, Dean questioned his plan.

He tried to bluff his way through his sudden stumbling thoughts.

“After you,” He said, holding open his door and trying not to grimace.

With a smirky little flip of her hair, the demon started to get into the Impala.

And that was went she saw the trap.

“Oh, puppy,” the demon said, eyes flashing as it flipped the floor pad up. “Come on now, that was almost cute,”

It slammed the door shut and stepped towards him, and Dean took a step back. Those pitch black eyes were like staring into pits of ink. He listened for the sound of the heartbeat stuttering, or doing something characteristically off - but it was steady. A  _ thump thump thump _ of alive flesh being bound to this evil son of a bitch. 

“You know I should rip you limb from limb, for that?”

He didn’t know, but he suspected. Demons were not known for their kindness.

“Just did that last week, actually,” It informed him, nonchalant. “Boy did he  **_scream_ ** , too,”

It stalked closer. And Dean felt a frisson of fear ignite his spine. Some primal part of him warning him against tussling with a literal being of evil. Still, with his heart beating and a shit eating grin he suppressed with the best of them, even as he was pushed back into the wall of wood behind him.

“Go for it, sweetheart,” He said, even though he knew that ‘it’ was an ‘it’. 

The thing cocked the girls head, like a puppet on a string and Dean had never been close enough to almost physically see the jerking of limbs fighting, unconscious. A grin came next that was all teeth and probably would have been attractive, if Dean couldn’t smell the nastiness on its breath.

“No,” It pulled back the tiniest bit. “No, I don't think so,”

Dean frowned despite himself. That wasn’t what he was expecting. It wasn’t following script. His heartbeat spiked as he tried to imagine what hunger + not wanting to kill him could mean possibly for him. And came up drawing a blank as it pulled back a little farther. Nothing good.

“I'm not going to put you out of your misery,”

That was... that was better than hunger. The demon was flirty now, gone was the possessiveness and back was the superiority. Still, Dean remembered. He couldn’t forget that look. How witches looked at him. Or girls right before they came over to talk to him. Or the occasional man.

“Yeah? Why not?” He spat before he could help himself.

“Because your misery's the whole point,” 

Even though he couldn’t hear a single heartbeat murmur, the demons control of the body too absolute, he knew - somewhere deep - that it was lying. She continued, though. 

“It's too much fun to watch. Knowing how your daddy died for you, how he sold his soul. I mean, that's gotta hurt. He was fully human and you’re not even...” She looked him up and down quickly. “Half the  _ man _ he was.”

Lies. All lies. It threw Dean off more than he thought it would. Especially since it wasn’t all lies. The was the worst part, the truth mixed with the lies. He just needed to believe it was all lies. Separating the lies from the truth would be impossible, and he certainly wasn’t about to start here, in the middle of a fight he could only hope to win by being better than this scum in front of him. 

So he deflected and he slapped on a fake smile. Which wavered the more the body spoke those demons words. 

“It's all you ever think about. You wake up and your first thought is, " **_I can't do this anymore."_ ** ” 

Dean wanted to deny. Of course he did, but hadn’t he just woke up this morning thinking that very thing?

“You're all lit up with pain. I mean, you loved him s _ o much _ . And it's all your fault. Oh and I’m not even going to trying to unpack all that puppy dog love you’ve got going on for your brother,” She waved a hand dismissively. It was like a slap and Dean jerked back. “You’re in pain, puppy, and who am I to smother that delicious agony?”

He certainly didn’t want to unpack what it could possibly mean about Sam.

“You blew it, Dean!” It snarled. “I could have given you what you  _ wanted _ , what you  **_needed_ ** ,”

Dean clenched his jaw tightly, breathing through his nose. 

This had been part of the plan, of course it was, but it was also not. It... he couldn’t plan the weakness the demon was going to stab at with an ice pick of fire - he could only guess. And his guesses were obviously off, since he hadn’t thought anything of his father’s death - or rather he had been ignoring it.

“And what’s that?” He asked, his voice a whisper of its usual volume. “What I  _ need _ ?”

The demon smiled, before stepping back. Taking the oppressive air with it.

“Your father,” That was said in a lilting little sing-songy voice. “I could have brought him back,”

Then it tore itself free from him and started to walk away. Even turning, the body the demon wore gave no indications to Dean of what the demon was feeling. It was such a disconnect. Dean was lost without his nose and ears to tell him what the body in front of him was thinking, feeling - everything and anything. All his usual training as a human was gone, after being so immersed as he was within his new senses, it was like trying to go back in time.

Completely, totally, useless.

“Your loss. Seeya, Dean. I wish you a _nice_ **long** life, all twelve puppy-dog years of it!” 

Dean let it. Let the demon walk away, watching the poor girls body stalking its way forward, away from him.

This was not the plan. This was not the plan at all. He breathed deeply, pushing away his thoughts and his feelings, and how his heart was beating hard, and how much he wanted to punch the stupid bitch of a demon in its stupid smug smoke. He couldn’t focus on everything, so he pushed that all away, and tried to keep his eyes on the plan.

“Hold on,” He called, digging his fingers into the wood behind him.  

Dean couldn’t see it’s face, how it contorted its meat-skin, but he heard a shifting skin, his nose twitched as the demon allowed the body to put off a scent of pleasure. It was a show, and it threw Dean off as the demon turned right around. 

“Oh?”

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair, pretending he was stressed. Not much of an act, really, since this demon seemed to have his number. Seemed to understand his weaknesses in a way Dean had never contemplated. Considering he never tried to actively look at his life as anything other than a nuisance... that wasn't saying much. 

“I - “

He stopped himself. The demon turned around.

The only reason this would work, that this play could possibly have a chance of working, is if the demon underestimated him. And seeing as it was dismissive over his dog qualities, and being a human, Dean wasn’t too terribly worried that the demon wouldn’t follow this last part of the script.

“You're lucky I've got a soft spot for lost puppies and long faces,” the demon said, cocking its head with a sigh. “I just can't leave you like this. Besides. You didn't call me here to bargain for Evan. Not really.”

It made its way back towards Dean.

So much to unpack in everything the demon had said, but Dean focused on the one truth, more universal than his heartbeat.

“Can you bring him back? My dad?”

The demon used that attractive face to smile kindly at him. 

“Of course I can. Just as he was. Your dad would live a long and natural life, like he was meant to. That's a  **promise** ,” 

It was... a good deal. Wasn’t it? Dean had to honestly consider it, to let the thought linger.

“What about me?”

“I could give you ten years. Ten long good years with him. That's a lifetime. The family can be together again. John, Dean, Sammy. The Winchester boys all reunited,”

Yes, yes, rather standard fair, that was. Ten years was the kind of usual lifetime deal. It was the same these stupid people had agreed to. But the demon wasn’t done there.

The demon walked closer, before pausing. “And of course, ten years of servitude to me once your bill comes due,” 

Wait. What? Dean bristled as the thing started to advance again. 

“What do you mean?”

“Look. Your dad's supposed to be alive. You're supposed to be dead. So we'll just set things straight, put things back in their natural order. And you get ten extra years on top. That's a bonus. The ten years afterwards, when you’re supposed to be in the pit, are mine - it’s a win-win Dean, believe me,” It smiled again. Like it couldn’t stop. “Being in the pit... it’s no walk in the park,”

Dean believed it. He was also aware that that deal, of being in servitude to someone instead of straight to the deepest pits of hell... wasn’t offered to just anyone. Was it... was it because he was familiar? His mind spun, but that mattered little.

The demon had walked under the devils trap. Dean walked right out past it, a few inches.

He put on his bravest face and turned back.

“You think you could... throw in a set of steak knives?”

Because at this point, all he really had left was deflection. He felt... raw inside. Not unlike how he imagined a steak would feel it was put through the blender. He knew that demons liked to go for the weak spots, he’s been counting on it, but lord - wasn’t that just fucked up that it still seemed to surprise and hurt him?

“You know, I can’t wait to train that smartass defense - “ It tried to step forward. And failed.

That was when the demon knew it was trapped.

* * *

Sam paced nervously in front of Evan and Sylvia. The both of whom were sitting, petrified, on the sofa. Neither looked at each other. They were a little shell shocked, truth be told. Not that Sam could blame them. Hellhounds were chasing them, wanting to rip them apart and straight down to hell.

Dean still wasn’t back. And it had been two hours.

_ Come on Dean, _ Sam pleaded internally as he looked to the door, to his phone, and wished that he was the familiar - so he could hear his brother coming a mile away. But he wasn’t. He was human and he was stuck waiting the human way.

At least Evan and Sylvia weren’t idiots. Sure they had sold their souls, a dumbass move, but they kept quiet and didn’t ask him stupid questions. Questions which he is sure he would have snapped at them for. 

With a puff of a sigh, Sam flopped onto a chair.

Dean wasn't back. Sam tried to comfort himself that they were trying to save two people and these things took time. Idiots, yes, but people nonetheless. It made Sam feel better, feel less like a monster, when he could save people from certain, fate-defying death. And Dean backed him on it.

Usually.

This time there had been more to it. More to Dean’s hesitancy and his defiance, and his unwillingness to go into the fight. It was almost un-Dean like really.

Which just reminded Sam that Dean wasn’t really Dean anymore. Not completely, of course, but just enough. He was a dog often. He had mannerisms that were straight out of what Sam assumed a werewolf must feel like - with a hell of a lot of the consequences gone. Sometimes he would stiffen, get this far away look in his eye, before coming back to earth like it was nothing. Sam knew he was listening to far off sounds, or he was smelling something, or he was seeing something so far away...

It didn’t make it any less unsettling.

Was that how Dean felt about his visions? 

A car pulled up. Now, Sam may not have Dean’s enhanced senses, but he knew what the sound of the Impala by heart. 

Relief flowed through him as he jumped up and to the door. He opened it just in time to see Dean exiting the driver side, and starting to turn towards Sam and the house.

“Dean,” He said, relieved.

His brother heard it, with those impossible ears of his, and looked up at him.

There was something wrong. 

Sam could tell even a handful of feet away from each other and in the pitch darkness of the night. Dean’s eyes reflected in that erie way animals sometimes did in headlights, before it quickly was dashed back to human likeness. His face was banked in shadows. He moved slowly as he shut the door.

“Dean?”

Dean waited until he was on the steps to say anything.

“Hiya Sammy,” He said, before turning around and sitting on the porch steps. “They’re good to go. Demon free’d ‘em.”

Sam felt relief, but also bone deep worry. Dean must have realized what Sam was feeling, like he seemed to have a radar for Sam’s feelings, and just huffed. 

Hoisting himself to sit down next to Dean, Sam had to ask. “What happened?”

Dean had his eyes shut against the light of the moon.

“Later,” He said.

Sam frowned. He wasn’t exactly sure what he should be feeling. He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder in a show of solidarity, in comfort, to just remind him he wasn’t alone here. It worried him, how Dean let out a full-bodied shuddering breath. As if that was exactly what he needed right now. Something, once, he would never have been caught dead doing.

They sat in silence for the next ten minutes. Only interrupted by Sylvia coming out.

“So... uh... are we, uhm, good?”

Evan looked at Sylvia like she was severely mentally handicapped. 

Dean snorted in amusement, looking behind him to the two he had saved. Sam watched, wondering what he was going to say. It was so very hard to get a read on Dean.

“Your souls are your own,” Dean said, turning back to stare out into the darkness. “Don’t know about the whole ‘good’ thing,”

* * *

Sam as a human and Dean as a dog, sat outside the small cafe in a town two hours away from that hellhound infested hellhole, where no one would remember their passing. It was silent between them. Dean had been the one speaking in his mind directly to Sam, who had sat, sipping on his coffee. Sam had sat and listened for nearly half an hour as Dean finally explained what had happened with the demon.

Especially what happened after he had had the demon trapped. What she had taunted him with before ultimately letting him have these two souls. He still remembered the kiss, still remembered how stupidly easy it had been, and how terrified he was that - if it was that easy, what was ever stopping him for doing it again?

Of course he didn’t say that, but he did tell Sam about what the demon had said about John.

“Demons lie,” Sam said. He sounded as sure about that statement as he was about their direction in life.

_ :This demon, didn’t,: _ Dean said, his head on his paws as he watched the foot traffic. : _ Why lie when the truth hurts worse?: _

He looked up when Sam said nothing. 

_ :What I want to know... is how he could do it?: _

Sam, like he was doing more and more lately, defended John. “He did it for you,”

Dean wanted to say: I never asked him to.

Dean wanted desperately to snap: He made a  **deal** with a demon.

Dean knew he couldn’t say: I get it. If he said anything about understanding than Sam would know. And Sam was smart, and he would put two and two and four together and get eight. He would understand the significance, and Dean wanted that as much as he wanted nothing.

John was a complicated man on a good day. It stood to reason that his death would be just as confounding as his life. A good man, sure, but not someone that Dean wanted to emulate. Not now. Not after the truth was out. There were things that Dean couldn’t ignore about his father. 

John sold his soul. For Dean. Dean who wasn’t totally human. Dean, who turned into a dog. Dean as a Familiar. Dean. 

_ Dammit _ , He couldn’t accept that, not right now.

So instead, he deflected. 

_ :She told me that I would have taken the deal had I known what was happening there... to him.: _

Sam just looked at him. Looked into him like he could see his soul and it made Dean tense, and cranky, and stiff. 

_ :But, if Dad really did sell his soul... :  _ Dean felt his throat close up, as he tried and failed at nonchalance.  _ :I don’t think I can just ignore that,:  _

Sam clenched his jaw. “He didn’t, Dean. Demons lie.”

Dean looked at Sam. 

_ Oh Sam,  _ Dean thought but didn’t remind him,  _ I know when you’re lying. _

“Yeah,” Dean said.

They didn’t talk anymore after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF SUICIDE BY JUMPING FROM A BUILDING. If you do not like blood and guts descriptions, please skip.   
> It starts are "I won’t give that dog the satisfacti -" and ends at the page break.


	11. A little Demon Town Called Croatoan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a vision where Dean apparently kills a human kid. They get to the town and realize something far, far worse is happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -waves- Hi y'all! So I have been a busy busy bee (I've become kind of addicted to working out and have lost 20+ and counting but have had like no time to myself outside of that) and have had like no time to edit or write but I am FINALLY satisfied with this chapter. :) And the next, of course.  
> This was actually like.... the second chapter I finished writing but it needed to be fleshed out with what my plans were before I posted it.  
> It has now been fleshed out. The plot has now 'thickened'/  
> :D  
> :D  
> ENJOY!

Dean’s kind of getting sick and tired of Sam just zoning out and then fucking up their weekend plans. He knows, logically it's not Sam’s fault, but still... It's a kick in the pants every single time it happens.

Not that they had any real plans besides hanging out at a bar, watching the game, or maybe going to see a movie.... or check the news for cases... or going to play frisbee as doggie-Dean and Human Sam. The possibilities were endless.

And none of those possibilities were what they were currently doing.

No. Instead they were on their way to some little town where Sam thinks the apocalypse is going to happen and he’s going to kill some kid. Dean’s killing the kid, specifically. Not Sam. Which... is a different take on things, that's for sure. And sure, Dean’s maybe a _little_ pissed that Sam still won’t tell him, four hours into the drive, what exactly it is about him killing some kid that has gotten him so shaken - but Dean’s flexible.

“You’re sure it’s Oregon?” Dean asked as the GPS spewed more directions.

Dean doesn't like the little box that thinks it can beat a good old fashion map.

Sam does though. So they use it.

“Saw a poster in the room. Crater Lake.” Sam says, distracted. He fiddled with the device until he got the results he wanted.

Dean fidgeted, his thumbs beating out a rhythm on the steering wheel. Sam was as quiet as a nun with a secret, and Dean knows it’s up to him (again) to get Sam to talk to him. What else is new?

“... Can we please talk about what the fuck has you so concerned?”

Sam stiffened.

“You killed a kid.”

 _And?_ Dean wants to ask but knows that Sam is pretty shaken up. Dean’s accepted that he’s a killer. Sam is still struggling with it. Always had. But as the older brother, Dean had accepted many things as unchangeable a long, long time ago at his father’s knee, Hunting. Then again... he should probably be a little worried if the death was a human-kid. But Dean didn’t kill humans, so the kid was most likely not human.

Dean ignored the fact he was a little less than human most days.

“Explain the vision to me,” Dean demanded, fingers restlessly beating out a pattern on the wheel. When Sam didn’t look like he was about to respond - because he’d gotten it into his head to protect Dean, somehow, by not speaking, Dean asked, “Please, Sam? I hate going in blind...”

If there was one thing, Sam understood: it was guilt.

“We were in some room. It was dark. The kid was tied to a chair.”

Dean could feel Sams heart thumping in the small car as if it were his own. The dips, the peaks, as Sam spoke.

“Was that when I, you know, did the deed?”

Sam didn’t look at him. “You thought there was something in him.”

 _Now they were getting somewhere._ Dean knew, intimately, that Sam considered these visions highly suspect and completely demon-only, which meant entirely not okay. He hated this part of himself on a level that not even Dean had started hating the doggie part of himself. It didn’t help that every single vision seemed to center around children like Sam. And if Dean had killed the kid...

“Was he possessed?” Dean had to ask. Cover all his bases.

“I don’t know.”

“Was he... he like you?”

“... I don’t think so.”

Sam’s heartbeat was useless to listen to for this because he was stressed, and he was showing all the indicators of lying - but Dean knew him. Had listened to him every time he had nightmares not associated with visions, had stood by his side as he killed, and on occasion when a pretty girl talked to him. Heartbeats - Dean was learning - were not the catch-all for lies. Especially not when every word seemed to be a lie.

Smells helped, though, and Dean took a moment to get a whiff of Sam’s _tenseNotOKUnhappySweatyFire._

 _Alright_. Dean had asked. Sam had told him. As far as he could tell, that was good enough for him.

“Man, fuck these visions.” Dean snarled.

Sam gave him an amused but strained look. “Don’t I **wish** I could stop them... but if we can save someone - shouldn’t we?”

Dean honestly couldn’t answer, because he was realizing more and more that he was split. On the one hand, humans deserved to live human lives, unimpeded by monsters and all manner of creepy-crawly-supernatural creatures. On the other hand... Dean was _tired_. Exhausted. He’d been doing this job, nonstop, for the entirety of his adult life. What did he have to show for it but a curse that made him entirely too dependant on his younger brother in a way that disturbed him?

Was it so much to ask for the rest of these stupid people, on this stupid planet, to give them a break... Just once?

They talked for a little while longer, settling on a course of action as well as throwing around their casual hurtful comments (as per the usual) and Dean and Sam decided to try and find the kid. Sam only had a physical description of what he could remember, but Dean would be helping by keeping an ear out.

Too bad that plan went to shit when Dean and Sam stepped foot into the town.

* * *

The second Dean stepped out of his car in the small town, he knew something was wrong.

It was just a feeling, nothing concrete, but his feelings were better than most people’s eyesight, or smell, or taste. Still, even after a year of having better senses, he wasn’t sure exactly **what** was wrong. He took an experimental sniff. Nothing. He listened, straining his listening ears as far as he could while trying to focus on abnormalities. Also, nothing. Eyes were useless. Touch and taste, too.

Still, Dean felt something was off. Way, way off. It made the hair on the back of his next stand on end.

He told Sam as much.

“Great,” Sam said sarcastically. “Just what we need.”

But Sam took the words for the caution they were and was on red alert as they walked. As he and Sam made their way into the town, Sam stiffened. His eyes locked on a man sitting on his porch.

“ _He_ was there.” He hissed at Dean.

_Wait.. what - Oh yeah. In the dream._

Dean nodded and with his attention split; made sure to try and pinpoint what was making him uncomfortable. It wasn’t a strong enough feeling to change how he reacted, but it was enough to know that he _was_ feeling something wrong.

“Morning,” Sam greeted as Dean hung back, surreptitiously sniffing.

Sam introduced himself and gave a spiel about the kid they were looking for. Adding information that must have come from the vision. Somethin about a scar. Dean only paid half a mind, talking when it was needed, but otherwise trying to figure out what had him so fucking jumpy. It had been well over a year since his foray into familiar-dom, and with it, his senses hadn’t mellowed, exactly, but he now had to actively be looking for something before he found it.

Dean zoned back into the conversation as the man started to put off a smell of great distrust.

“Listen, Master Sergeant, the kids really not in trouble,” Dean said, laying it on thick once he saw that distinctive tattoo on the man's arm. The surprise he emitted was enough for Dean to explain, “My dad was in the corp,”

Some of the smell dissipated, as the man smiled. “Oh, yeah? What company?”

“Echo-2-1,” Dean said with a smile, genuinely pleased to speak about the old man.

The man kept rocking on his porch, but then his smell mellowed. He believed them. He trusted them enough to believe them.

“Duane Tanner's got a scar like that. But I know him. Good kid keeps his nose clean... He lives up with his family, up Aspen way,”

“Thank you, you’ve been a big help,” Dean tipped his head.

It’s not until they are walking away that Dean gets _it_.

It’s faint.

Barely a huff of a breath.

But it's there. That’s enough for Dean.

His arm shot out, grabbed Sam’s sleeve tightly drawing him to a quick stumble, as he stood still as a statue and tried to breathe in the smell again. It had been so quick, so fleeting, Dean almost thought he had imagined it.

“Dean?” Sam questioned as he was halted.

“Shh,” Dean told him, trying to get the _hint_ of a scent again. He tried for a good ten, fifteen seconds.

It was gone.

Even still, Dean knew that smell. He knew it because it was one of the only things in the entire world that had no place in this small little town, in the middle of the road, far away from any factories or eggs. He knew it as well as he knew that dead-blood most likely equaled vampire. He knew it as he knew anything. From experience. From learning.

Sulfur.

Demons were here.

“ **_Dude_ ** ,” Sam said, behind him, and Dean turned to see him staring at a telephone pole.

The word ‘Croatoan’ were carved deep into the wood.

Dean felt a shiver run down his spine.

* * *

Deans only slightly dignified when sticks his head out the window as they drive trying to follow ‘scent trails’, which would have been fine but they were failing. The sulphuric smell was quickly becoming background noise for his nose. What had been a surety, a fact, had quickly become a fluke.

“Anything?” Sam asked for the tenth time.

He was still spooked about the words that apparently meant ‘dead colony about to happen right up in here’. That and the telephone lines being cut. Something which was considerably more worrying than a word. Lines being cut was a physical move to announce violence. Words were just words. Which Sam wasn’t letting him forget since apparently schoolhouse rock wasn’t the best ‘history’ lesson.

 _Whatever_.

 _:What do you think?_ : Dean grumbled, backing up and getting his head into a better position. Only that made it worse. The smell of pine and dirt covering everything else like a wet blanket. _:Ugh. This isn't working...:_

Sam gave him a sympathetic look.

“This is still new territory Dean. Your nose can be wrong, you know...”

 _It's not_ , Dean wanted to grumble but just laid his ears flat and glared at his brother. Sam was right though, this was getting them nowhere. Maybe a new tactic was needed. Huffing Dean thought over their options. A mile passed, and he realized something needed to give.

 _:Pull off.:_ Dean commanded, pointing with his nose to the sidewalk. _:Let me out. Maybe if I get my nose to the pavement, I'll have better luck. The speed we’re going is really messing with my schnoz.:_

“You sure?” Sam asked, but was already slowing down.

 _:Course I'm sure, now,:_ The car rolled to a stop and Dean jumped from the window.  Landing he turned and hopped onto his back legs, paws on the window. Very, very careful not to scratch.   _:You go check out the kid's house. I'll catch up.:_

Sam gave him an unimpressed look. “And if the kid is part of it all?”

 _:You’re a grown man, Sam. Act like it.:_ Sam raised a brow, and Dean conceded. _:Fine. Then I'll come rescue you.:_

He flashed his canines in a grin as Sam grimaced at the playful tone, before rolling his eyes and stepping on the accelerator.

The last words Dean heard over the engine were “Whatever... stupid dog,”

Dean barked a huffy laugh but quickly got to work. The smells out in the forest were all earthy clean scents and easy to categorize and dismiss. It was much like focusing on one color in a sea of the rainbow. Not easy, but not impossible. And all without the use of his eyes. His nose was doing all the work. And, just like Dean, his nose knew what to do.

Following the road as best he could, Dean set off at a jog. It would only take Sam about twenty minutes to drive.

Dean was hoping he could make it in forty.

\-----------------------

“Anything?”

Dean startled up from where he had thought he had found a trail of sulphur, only for it to end in a puddle about the size of his paw. This was the first interruption in nearly thirty minutes. And better yet, that was Sam’s voice. He was in range!

With a happy little bark, Dean responded. : _Sam! Hey! Any luck on your end? I keep getting dead-end-trails,:_

Sam’s voice was faint, but Dean could _always_ focus on it. Like some kind of Sam-seeking missile. The rest of the sounds in the forest all fell away as Dean focused solely on Sam. He even started trotting closer, to hear better, and also because that was the plan.

“It could be natural sulphur, Dean. It _is_ a smell that shows up occasionally,”

: _Whatever_ ,: Dean snorted _. :What about you? Did you find anything?:_

“No. Just the dad and his brother. The kid’s apparently on a camping trip...” Sam trailed off from his explanation and Dean knew that tone. Without even thinking about it, Dean picked up the pace. Based on the sound of Sam’s voice, he wasn’t more than five minutes away.

“I don’t know though, Dean, something didn’t feel right about them.”

 _:Don’t you dare go near them without me.:_ Dean snapped at him.

“I waited this long, didn’t I?”

Dean snorted. _:Yeah, or it took you that long to question them.:_

Sam was quiet, but Dean knew he had hit dead-center.

: _Rookie_ ,: Dean called to him fondly.

“Oh shut up.”

The sound of other people, humans, burst into clear relief the closer Dean came. He only heard the first little bit of the conversation, but his blood ran cold all the same. His paws dug into the dirt as he picked up the pace.

: _Change of plans, Sam!_ : Dean said, breaking into a dead sprint. _:The dad and the brother are definitely in on it! They got some chick tied up and are threatening her!:_

Sam didn’t respond, but Dean was now close enough to track his heartbeat, and it had shot through the roof. Sam was probably on his way to save the woman, and Dean was no more than a minute behind. Still, Sam could hold his own until he got there. He was a strong, well trained Hunter.

It didn't stop Dean from worrying the entire time.

Dean arrived panting to the scene just in time to see Sam sitting a woman on the porch. She had a dazed look to her that spoke of shock, and she was shaking like a leaf. Knowing she hadn’t seen him, Dean backed up and quickly changed. Then he came around to Sam’s side. The woman smelled of fear, and pain, and all manner of unhappiness. The shock overlaying it all like a curtain.

“What the hell happened, Sam?” He demanded, looking for the two men. They were nowhere to be seen nor could Dean hear them.

Sam had on his ‘ **_I have no fucking clue what just transpired and even if I told you I’m not quite sure I saw it right_ ** ’ face. When he spoke, Dean just stared at him.

“They had her tied up in the kitchen. The kid, uh Jake, had a knife and was cutting up her arm,” Sam pointed to the cloth the woman was holding to her arm. As if Dean couldn’t smell the coppery-oily-lifeblood. “And then - I mean, fuck Dean - ” He gestured helplessly. “They did that to her.”

“They tied me up.” The woman stared at Dean wide-eyed. “Why... why did they...?”

Sam grimaced and ran a hand through his hair.

“We’ve got to get her back to town. Get her medical attention.”

Dean grimly nodded and, helping the woman up, they got her into the Impala. She trembled violently against him. This was some of the worst parts for Dean, now. How people reacted and how he managed to form superficial bonds with people at the drop of a hat.

He already knew he would do whatever he could for her.

“Should we bring the body?”

Sam looked at the house, huffing, but nodded his head. “Maybe we can get some answers. If it’s an isolated incident or if it’s something bigger...”

Minutes later they were off. A dead body in the trunk, and the victim in the back with them. The car quiet and somber.

* * *

It was a ghost town.

The people that had been sitting on porches and walking between buildings or eating lunch were all gone. Silence echoed. If it could have gotten anymore horror- movie-esqu and cliche, Dean was half expecting a tumbleweed to roll through town. The familiar felt the heavy feeling of tension and unease settle in his stomach as he guarded Sam’s back as they helped the lady into the clinic.

When they were inside the first doors, Dean followed and pulled the door closed in front of him. It was unfortunate that the doors were glass, but there wasn’t much he could do for that. Windows would shatter, and it would suck to defend this place, if it came down to it, but Dean wasn’t about to let that stop him from planning.

“Mrs. Tanner, what happened?” The nurse asked, blinking stupidly in shock.

Sam answered for her, “She’s been attacked,”

The nurse’s eyes widened, and she was off.

“Doctor!”

The inside of the clinic smelled like a sharp-lemon-orange mixture with an underlying medical taste that settled against the back of his tongue like medicine. It was clear that someone had just recently cleaned, by how strong the smell was, and it gave Dean a small headache being anywhere near the overwhelming clean-smell. _Nothing_ should be that clean. Dean was kind of annoyed he was that sensitive to artificial smells.

Dean was always suspicious of hospitals and clinics that smelled like this because honestly - what were they trying to do? Hide the bacteria under the smell?

The nurse came back around with the doctor in town with gasps, and wide eyes.

“Bring her in!” The doctor said, ushering them forward.

And then, that’s when everything smelled like sulphur.

It was like a light switch being flipped, one moment nothing, the next - **all** sulphur **.** The black smell coating his tongue and the back of his throat. It made him gag as he stumbled back like the smell was a real, physical slap.

“Dean?”

Dean breathed a deep startled breath, coughing from the touch of the stink on his person. Every breath felt like he was breathing in poison. He sneezed involuntarily, his bodies defense against the smell. When that did nothing, he tried to paw at his nose, tried breathing through his palm -

“Dean!”

It’s then that Dean realized he was leaning heavily against the counter at the front of the clinic. Shaking.

“Sammy -” He managed before the smell made him completely nauseated. He had to fight back the urge to vomit, hiding his face into his elbow. That didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

“Hey - whoa whoa! What’s wrong Dean?”

As soon as Sam got close enough, Dean realized that he could smell something. He could smell **Sam**.

It was a no-brainer then. Dean needed to breathe, and it seemed like Sam was breathable. So, again, as he had once done before after the zombie smell that had wrecked his nose, he lurched for Sam.

“Oomph!” Sam huffed as Dean landed in his arms, again, and shoved his nose into his throat. Sam froze solid.

Sweet blessed relief from the awful smell of sulphur. It was like he could breathe again, and he took gasping, ragged breaths. Which is when he was able to realize why Sam was the only voice he had heard - the doctor, and the nurse, and that lady they had rescued were in the other room, the examination room.

 _“Pam. Beverly . . . do you have any idea why they would act this way? Any history of chemical dependency?”_ The doctor was saying.

The woman responded. “ _No, of course not. I don't know why. One minute they were my husband and my son. And the next, they... they had the devil in them.”_

It took him a few seconds to get his bearings.

“Sam,” He said.

Sam, a little startled and caught off guard, replied. “Yeah? What the hell was that?”

“All I smell is sulphur. Nose is literally full of it the smell. I’m going to go out on a limb and say I was right the first time,” He met his brother’s eyes. “Demons.”

Sam’s arms hugged him closer. “Fuck, Dean,”

“Ugh, it was like I was drowning in it. Once second fine, the next...” Dean felt a full body convulsion. “Damnit, Sam, the only reason I can even talk right now is cause of you. You don’t smell like sulphur. Which, uh, sorry about that,”

“I smell that good, huh?” Sam said weakly, but he didn’t let Dean go. Which Dean was thankful for. He wasn’t sure how stable his legs were, after all. It wasn’t often his nose tried to kill him. His ears, on the other hand, never stopped trying to overwhelm him.

Inch by inch, Dean tried to pull back. The smell of sulphur was overpowering, but like all things - after a while, it kind of mellowed into background noise. It still itched and stung his nose, and he wasn’t sure how Sam, with his stupid human nose, wasn’t smelling anything. It was his opinion that humans could smell just fine but they refused to use their noses. He certainly remembered the smell of sulphur, but Sam was looking at him with concern. Not understanding.

“I think I’m good now,” Dean said, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. It felt raw like he’d snorted a salt pack. “Ugh.”

“Is it gone?”

Dean glared at him. “ _No_ ,”

Sam held up his hands, taking a step back, a little too fast. “Well, sorry - “

And the sulphur smell was just a touch too much. He could breathe through it, yes, but it stunk to high heaven. Still, he leaned backward into the counter, trying to steady himself in the too-much-too-soon smell. He had relied on Sam today one more time than he wanted to.

“You good there Dean?”

Dean was so far past good. He just wanted to rant. With his eyes closed, head leaning back, he tried to get used to this new breathing arrangement. It was like being in a dumpster, but that dumpster was full of evil.

“It’s like when I fucking kill something, and all I can smell is blood, except worse. Cause this is giving me a fucking headache, and it’s too much, and it won’t _fucking go away_ ,”

Sam had a hand out, and hesitated to touch him. Where Dean hadn’t hesitated to use Sam for his sanity, his brother hesitated to gain the same upper (or lower) hand. Dean was used to this, though. The double standard they now lived their lives with. Dean a hunter who was cursed into a monster. Sam, a kid who just happened to have weird, fucked up visions.

“Shit,” Sam said. Uselessly. “Sorry dude,”

But he stayed silent as Dean battled with himself.

“It’s demonic, for sure,” Dean said, eyes still closed, head still back. “And it’s _everywhere_.”

“Shit,” Sam repeated, again. Running a hand through his hair. “What do we do?”

Dean didn’t know what to say except what he had to.

“Seems we’ve got some kind of demonic bullshit on our hands.” And he sighed, trying to breathe through his mouth. “Again.”

* * *

As they waited for the doctor to get done with her examination of the lady, Dean finally had to ask.

“What happened before I got there?” Dean asked. “Real story, by the way, nobody is paying any attention to us right now,” He gestured around his head and ears, just in case the cameras were real.

Sam huffed a massive sigh as if he was the one who had to smell sulphur like B.O.

“It was just like I said, Dean. The guy and his son had the wife tied up, and they... they were hurting her. You heard that much,”

“I did,” Dean confirmed, slouching back against the counter. “I also heard the shots, but I didn’t see the son,”

Sam stiffened, “He got away,”

“Hmmm,” Dean said, noncommittally. He could tell there was something there. Sam’s heart had skipped a beat, jogged a little too fast.

“I shot the guy. The kid got away. That was it,” He said, a little too forcefully. “Then you showed up.”

“Nothing else?”

His little brother turned away.

“No,”

 _Bull to the shit_ , Dean thought to himself, with narrowed eyes as he watched Sam walk away. Except Sam was already off. With a sigh, he followed and tried not to wince at the currents of the air pushing more and more sulphur his way.

At this point, a demon could come up and kiss him, and he’d never know.

* * *

They met the doctor in the hallway as she exited the examination room and shut the door. She wore a look of pure antagonism.

“What the hell happened out there?” She demanded in a hissed mimicry to Dean’s early interrogation.

“How’s she doing?” Sam asked mouth a firm line.

“Terrible! Her husband just attacked her!”

“And her son,” Dean added.

Her eyes flickered over to Dean. “And her son... what the hell?”

“We don’t know,” Sam said, sympathetically. “That’s what we’re trying to get to the bottom of, ma’am.”

She crossed her arms. “Well... you shot my neighbor, any other people going to get shot?”

“I honestly can’t promise anything,” Sam shrugged, apologetically. “It’s... it’s not something we’ve ever seen before,”

“You can say that again,”

She looked out the window with a sigh.

“I need the sheriff. And the coroner...”

“Phones down,” Said said.

Dean added. “Not to mention the radios,”

The doctor put her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “I just don’t understand what could be happening...”

 _Say that again five times fast,_ Dean thought to himself looking out the window. The town was empty. Empty, empty, empty. It wasn’t the first empty town Dean had ever seen, but this was undoubtedly the first that had cleared out this fast. Could it be an isolated incident? Was the demonic activity confined to this one area?

“How far away is the next town?” Dean asked.

“Sidewinder is just down 22, about forty miles,” The doctor said, arms crossed.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” Dean announced. “My partner is gonna go to Sidewinder, see if we can’t find some help,” Sam’s head rose, sharply. Dean gave him an equally sharp look. It was the smart play. “I’ll stay here and hold down the fort. Keep us all safe,”

Doc startled at that.

“I’m sorry - keep us safe from what?”

Dean gave her a thoughtful, cocky smile.

“We’ll get right back to you on that,”

Then Sam was pulling Dean aside.

“Hey, so why is it me that’s going to the next town?” Sam demanded. “I thought that was always your play,”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, _before_ ,” Dean stressed quietly. Raising a brow, hoping Sam got it. “But we both know I am the better one to leave here. I can hear someone coming, and, sure, my nose is a little out of whack concerning sulphur, but I can still be useful here.”

Sam bit his lip and looked out the window, before he sighed and nodded. “And if you can’t keep human?”

Dean hadn’t thought of that. He and Sam were rarely away from each other for more than an hour, in either form. But, it made sense that being further away could affect him. Deeply. But would it be immediate? Would it be a slow, steady descent? Would his ‘battery’ hold?

“That’s a chance we’ll just have to take,”

Sam stared at him, but nodded.

“Chance we’ll just have to take...”

* * *

Dean watched as Sam drove away in the Impala and tried not to feel a sort of sense of impending doom. The sulphur smell was still overwhelming, but unfortunately, he had walked outside, and it was worse outside, so it wasn’t necessarily a person inside the clinic. Which, bad and worse. Not good.

He crossed his arms and tried to follow Sam’s outbound journey by sound alone.

“Huh,” invaded his ears, much louder than if he wasn’t focusing all his attention on his ears.

Dean turned to her. “Whats up, doc?”

Smiling at his own joke, he watched as the doctor turned to him, unamused. She had been running tests on the dead guys blood. This was the first she’d said since Sam had left.

“You done?”

Dean adopted a properly chagrin expression. “Sorry, sorry - you were saying?”

She went back to her microscope.

“His lymphocyte percentage is pretty high. His body was fighting off a viral infection,”

Dean wasn’t the smartest smarty-pants that Sam was, but he’d taken care of his fair share of snotty, flu-ridden Sam as well as bloody bullet wounds that had gotten infected. And so he knew enough about infections of all kinds.

“What kind of virus?” Dean asked, cocking his head. “Like the flu?”

The doc shook her head. “I can’t be sure...”

Dean looked between her and the microscope. “May I?”

She looked surprised, but gestured to the equipment.

“You’ve been trained?”

Dean shook his head but walked over, sliding along beside her. She smelled like fruity shampoo, antiseptic, and all things clean and good. No sulphur lingered around her, but perhaps that was because it had made a permanent home in his nostrils. As he looked into the microscope. “You think an infection could have made him act that way?”

She was probably shaking her head, but Dean was busy looking at the cells.

“None that I've ever heard of,” She sounded honestly distressed. “I mean, some can cause dementia, but not that kind of violence. And besides, I've never heard of one that did **this** to the blood,”

Dean had never really been the student that Sam was, but even looking at the blood under the microscope he knew this wasn’t what it should look like. It looked like each little individual circle was surrounded by a dark, cloudy substance.

“What is this?” Dean asked, raising his head to her.

“If I didn't know better I'd say it was sulfur,”

 _Great_ , Dean thought to himself, looking to the dead guy on the table next to them. _Thanks a lot, Richard._

Together they decided to go and talk to the wife. Tell her what was happening and seeing if she knew anything. Her big eyes, as she sniffled, reminded Dean why he usually left Sam to talk to the victims. Whiney, crying people were not his cup of tea, even though he understood very well why they were reacting the way they were.

“I don't understand. Are you saying my husband and Jake had a disease, Doctor Lee?”

Lee shook her head with a sigh. “That's what we're trying to find out.”

“Now, during the attack, do you remember . . . did you have any direct contact with their blood?”

“Oh my God,” Mrs. Tanner said, with wide eyes and shaking hands. “You don't think I've got this virus, do you?

“Beverly,” Doctor Lee said. “I don't know **what** to think. But with your permission, we'll take a blood sample,”

Beverly was all sweet and kind, and she smiled at Doctor Lee. Then she twisted into a demonic creature before their very eyes. Dean had no clue it was about to happen either. No smell, no sound, nothing. With a snarled yell, she attacked Doctor Lee. Dean didn’t make it in time to grab her, to stop her, but it didn’t matter - he was next.

With an animalistic snarl, she launched herself at Dean. Dean flew into a glass cabinet, shards of broken glass raining down on him. He snarled, looking into the haunted, snarling face of what-was-once Beverly, before getting his feet and tossing her back.

Life or death, Dean didn’t pull his punch as he knocked her right out.

Doctor Lee and he shared a look over Beverly's downed body.

Shit.

Everyone in the small room was shaken. Pam, the nurse and who Dean had finally gotten a name for, sat against the counter, dull eyes looking out the small window, and back to the door, frightened. Doctor Lee had long since stopped speaking except to mutter to herself and make notes about the discoveries she was making from the microscope.

Dean had half an ear on them, and half an ear on Mrs. Tanner, Beverly, inside her prison of a storeroom. She wailed and moaned, occasionally cackling. She was completely mad, without a single sense of right or wrong, and too far gone to be able to ever see the horizon.

It was a pitiful sight, sound, and smell. And Dean wanted desperately to end it for her.

_Didn’t everyone see she was in pain? She was suffering?_

The humans would probably allow it, he mused to himself, his eyes only on the closet door. They’d been shaken, but they already were, weren’t they? And what was one more, justified death? It wasn’t like Beverly was coming back from this... Demons used and abused humans, but Dean had never seen anything like this.

“What if we all have it? What if we all go crazy?” Pam finally spoke up, her heart beating... a lot more steadily than Dean was expecting. He looked over at her, with a cocked head as Doctor Lee finally turned from her work, fists clenching.

“You've got to stay calm,” She said, far far from calm herself. “All we can do is wait. The Marshal's bringing help,”

Which reminded Dean that he could hear the Impala coming back. Something that meant the ‘Marshal’ was certainly not bringing help. He didn’t say that though, not only for the fact that nobody would believe him but also because it would be useless. Sam would be back within the next ten minutes.

Pam was shaking her head now, clenching her midsection tightly. Even through the heavy smell of sulphur, Dean could tell she was afraid.

“I can't, I . . . I've got to go.” Pam said, turning and stomping away.

Doctor Lee exclaimed. “Pam!”

Dean had to choose then. Continue watching the very well closed closet door, or follow. Either way he’d get an earful.

He sighed. It would just be easier to follow. Fewer questions, he’d see their faces as they talked, and he could smell them - what little he could. So he did. He came around the corner to Doctor Lee grabbing Pam’s arm.

“You can’t go out there!”

“No, you don't understand,” Pam stated, with tears in her eyes. “My boyfriend's out there, I gotta make sure he's okay,”

If Dean was Sam, he would have tried to comfort Pam. Maybe give her those stupid, useless platitudes that made people and humans feel better. But he wasn't, so, instead, he turned away. And tried to ignore the nagging sense that demons were everywhere, because of the stupid sulphur smell.

Dean realized he could hear the Impala coming back much closer, which meant he could hear Sam’s heartbeat like his own. The quiet neat, thump-thump. And another’s, much less focused. That happened now. Dean knew exactly where Sam was, within reason and range, but the people around him were fuzzier.  Based on how Doctor Lee and Pam both froze, they too heard it.

“That’d be Sam,” Dean said, stepping past them towards the front of the clinic. “Stay here,”

He made it to the front to Sam slamming on the door with both fists, Mark from before was next to him, both of them were looking over their shoulders wearily. Hurrying, Dean unlocked the door and ushered the man inside. Watching carefully for anything else, seeing and hearing nothing, he locked the door back up and turned to them both.

“They had the bridge locked down,” Sam began to explain. “Only made it about two miles outside of town, before they stopped me at the bridge,” He jerked a thumb to Mark. “He’s the only one I’ve found not infected.”

Then Sam turned to Mark, “The doc’s in there,”

Mark nodded, and then hurried off. Eager to seek out another human he knows from town. Dean doesn’t blame him.

Then Sam and Dean were alone.

“So?” Dean demanded. “What’s really happening out there?”

“It’s bad, Dean,” Sam said, in his usual no nonsense way. Grave. “Not a person between here and that bridge.”

Dean smirked trying to add some levity, “Like Chuck Heston in the Omega man?”

“Not now, Dean,” Sam grimaced. “It’s a ghost town out there. Mark was the only sane person I could find!”

“And how is Sarge?”

“What you can’t smell demon anymore?” Sam asked, furrowed brow and all. He looked to the entrance to the back of the clinic, though, watching.

“Everything smells like demon right now,” Dean reminded him, weary, tapping his nose.

Sam looked confused for a second before he closed his eyes in understanding and regret. “The sulphur smell. Yeah. Of course, I forgot sorry Dean,” Dean shrugged. No biggie. “We know anything else?”

“Doc thinks its a virus of some kind... But get this, its the kind that has a _sulphur_ ring around it,”

Dean looked at Sam meaningfully. He got it. Sam rolled his eyes and turned around, hands on his hip in disbelief, before turning right back to him. Exasperated in every line of his body. Except when he spoke he spoke in a hiss.

“A **demonic** virus?”

Dean nodded, and Sam stared at him.

“What the hell is happening here?” Sam demanded. “I mean... now I get why my visions have been showing up, but this...”

“Yeah.”

Sam huffed arms crossed. “I need to get into dads journal. See if I can find anything about what all this means...”

Dean snorted. “Good luck with that,”

Then Mark’s voice, which has been a faint background noise along with the Doctor’s as they conversed, yelled out to Sam.

“Hey! They’ve got a live one here!”

Sam cocked a brow at Dean as he tossed himself off the counter. “A live what?”

“Ah, yeah. The wife. She’s been infected.”

“What? Beverly?” Sam demanded, wide-eyed as they made their way to back. Dean winced. Humanizing the monster wasn’t gonna help anyone.

“How’d that happen?”

“We’re thinking blood-to-blood contact,” Dean said, as they entered into the next room.

Everyone in the room looked somber when the brothers stepped in

“We've gotta take care of this,” Mark said, looking at Sam. “We can't just leave her in there. My neighbors, they were strong. The longer we wait, the stronger she'll get,”

It was easy to see that Mark was a passionate person, who was used to being listened to. Which, Dean, after being John’s hunting partner for so long, found it so easy to listen to reason. The wife, Beverly, was a threat now, one that needed to be destroyed. He’d left it alone this long, because Sam had a chance to get to a town, to get help, perhaps find something to help.

Except Sam had failed.

So...

“Alright, you had your chance Sam,” Dean said, pulling his gun out.

The nurse gasped. “You’re going to kill Beverly?”

“Hey, whoa whoa, Dean!” Sam exclaimed, stepping bodily in front of him. “Hey now,” He soothed, before turning to the doctor, keeping an eye on Dean the entire time. “Doctor, could there be any treatment? Some kind of cure for this?”

Always so Sam. Trying to find an alternative path. Dean held himself back as he looked at the nurse and the doctor.

“For God's sake, I don't even know what ‘it’ is!” The doctor said, shaking. Dean smelled the intensity of the scene in front of him. How scared everyone was. How frightened. How...

Pleased someone was.

That caught him off guard, but he turned to the closet. Smells were seeping out from under it, and everything was so muddled it was hard to find a source. It could be someone in this room, or it could be Beverly, and Dean wouldn’t know until Beverly was dead.

At least Mark was on his side, the logical side.

“I told you,” Master Sergeant that he was said. “It's just a matter of time before she breaks through.”

Pam, always the one to speak so vocally against being smart and doing the right thing, did so once again.

“You can’t just kill her!”

Dean listened as everyone’s voice rose in a cacophony of agreements and disagreements. Gripping his gun tighter, he shouldered past Sam.

“Dean!” A part of him, the part that always wanted to listen to Sam, ached, but Dean pushed past it. Like he always would. Until he finally couldn’t, but today was not that day.

He ignored him and unlocked the closet door, swinging it wide to see Beverly huddled in the corner. She was sobbing big fat crocodile tears. He could tell because she smelled... off. Everything smelled off, but with the door opened, it was much, much easier to recognize. To pinpoint something down from broad to a little less broad.

He hefted his gun and listened dispassionately as the thing masquerading as a woman tried to plead with him, with Mark, with Pam, with Doctor Lee. Anyone, everyone. It was weak, and it was pathetic. It had a feeling of desperation, though, as if the thing knew it was useless. But survival was all it had.

Dean shot three times. Clustered.

The thing stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnddddd next chapter is where things get so off canon we are now in OFFICIAL AU landia :D :D :D


	12. Truthfully? I don't give a damn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam have to survive the demon plague - and the aftermath.  
> Truth, lies, and those twisted half-inbetween-things all finally clashed as worlds.  
> Dean's not so sure the truth's all that it's cracked up to be though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life is insane.   
> Things go a little like canon, and next chapter they go completely not. :)

Much to the dismay of the doctor and the nurse, they left Beverly's body right where it was. They had protested at first, but then all Dean had had to do was ask them both, simply, “You want to be infected like her?”

That shut them up. 

They’d thrown a white cloth over her body, which quickly soaked up the blood around.

Now, they were in the front of the clinic, the brothers and Mark. All of them watching out of the nearly-shut blinds. Outside there were a number of people coming out of the woodwork, all of them acting strange, and huddled together, staring at the clinic. Everyone was watching everyone else and it was... uncomfortable.

Sam had dad’s journal open, reading, trying to find answers to anything he could.

Dean heard Pam’s heartbeat double before a loud crash. He twisted around to hear her whisper-shout, “No, no no no no!”

Sam and he didn’t need to share a look to go after her.

“You’re clean, you’re okay,” Doctor Lee was saying, as the brothers came around the corner. 

There was blood on the ground, a vial shattered, but Pam didn’t look like she’d been nicked. The hyperventilating was a little annoying though. Dean took a sniff through the sulphur filled air and couldn’t smell two different blood types, or two different blood sources. Fresh or stale. Just stale. She was good.

Still, something was bothering him. With the thick smell of sulphur covering everything, he assumed his senses of ‘demon’ would be dulled. But now... at least an hour since it first started, Dean’s beginning to feel his hair stand on end again. Beginning to feel the danger around them.

He can’t ignore it, but for now, he can’t pinpoint it either.

Someone in this room is fucking infected.

And he’s not got a clue who. And he needs to get Sam alone so he can tell him so.

“We’ve got to get the word out, Dean,” Sam said, frowning at the spectacle in front of them, drawing Dean out. “If we could only find a phone... call the Roadhouse... Warn everyone else. We can’t stay here,”

Dean knew Sam was right. It didn’t make it easy. 

“Good point. Night of the Living Dead didn't exactly end pretty,” Dean said, listening as Mark pulled away from the blinds. 

“Well, I'm not sure we've got a choice,” Mark said, all military in the way he held himself. Which... comforted Dean. A lot. Reminded him of dad. “Lots of folks up here are good with rifles — even with all your hardware, we're easy targets. So unless you've got some explosives...“

Even though the smell of sulphur, Dean smelled his brother’s brain. Or rather, heard it. Loudly.

“Sam?” Dean asks as he turns to his brother.

Sam’s eyes aren’t on either Dean or Mark, but on the shelf above Pam’s head. Dean can practically hear him thinking.

“We could make some.” He said, and Dean immediately knew they were about to do another incredibly stupid thing. 

Luckily, it was around that time that Duane Tanner showed up. Banging on the doors, begging to be let in. Sam and Dean both held back, watching as Mark jumped forward to let him in. 

“It’s Duane Tanner!”

“He the guy I...” Dean made the motion. Sam looked pale, but he nodded as Mark ushered in the limping kid.

“You alright?” Mark asked. The kid shook but nodded.

“It’s a fucking madhouse out there,”

As Mark patted him on the shoulder, got ready to ask him how he was, Dean beat him to the punch.

“Easy there, chief,” Dean said, grabbing his upper arm and dragging him towards the back of the clinic. “Hey Doc! Give Duane a good once-over, would you?

The doc met them halfway, before seeing Duane and promptly turning on her heel. “PAM!”

“What the hell?” Duane, now thrown off guard, demanded of Dean. “Who the hell are you?”

“Really not important at the moment,” 

In the back of the clinic, Dean shoved Duane forward. “All yours, doc,”

“Thanks,” She blew out a breath before getting on with her examination. 

Duane looked around at them all, nervous. Dean could sympathize. If he was in a room with four people, some he knew and others that were strangers, watching him being checked for wounds as if he was a suspected-zombie, he’d be nervous too. Still, he left it up to one of the townies to question Duane as he listened to his heartbeat and smell. The smell wasn’t helping much, though. Everything was demon demon demon.

“So, where you been, Duane?” Mark asked, as Doctor Lee poked and prodded Duane.

“On a fishing trip up by Roslyn,” Which fit with the story they’d been told by everyone. “I came back this afternoon. I...” His breathing picked up. Heartbeat skittering. Smell keeping a mellow even  _ fearUnhappyConfused _ . “I saw Roger McGill being dragged out of his house by people we know! They started cutting him with knives! I ran, I've been hiding in the woods ever since.” 

He leaned back and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Before breaking his own silence. “Has anybody seen my mom and dad?”

Everyone resolutely did not look at the closet. Sam couldn’t even meet Dean’s eyes.

_ Awkward _ ...

“Hop up?” Doctor lee requested. Unable to meet his eyes. Duane did so, getting onto the stool, and then his knee peaked up through a long gash in his jeans. The smell of dried blood rose then, and Dean got his first hint of it. It had been masked by the dead body in the other room, but now it was starkly clear. 

“You’re bleeding...” Doctor Lee took a step back.

Dean stepped forward. Ready to defend the good doctor.

“How’d you get that?”

Duane looked down at his knee dismissively. “Must have gotten it while I was running. Tripped,”

Except he didn’t sound convinced. And if there was one thing Dean knew - an unconvinced person was as good as an unreliable person. His heart was beating too fast to pick out a lie. It was... it was too much of a coincidence. With Sam’s vision, his sudden appearance right as they were planning to leave: it made him uncomfortable.

“Tie him up, there's rope in there,” Dean directed Mark, pointing to the smaller storage closet. Mark and he had an accord, and the man obeyed instantly.

“Wait!” Duane moved to get up, to jump off the stool.

Dean had his gun out from the waistband of his jeans. “Stay right there!” Duane froze, hands up as he stared at the gun.

Mark hadn’t left yet, and he took that moment to tell Duane. “I'm sorry, Duane, he's right. We've gotta be careful,”

“Careful? About what?”

But Mark was already gone.

Dean ignored his pleading, keeping his gun steady. He heard Sam behind him breathing heavily. “Did they bleed on you?”

“Bleed on - what the hell?” When no one acted like they were joking, he added. “No! God no!”

Sam finally pipped in, not getting in front of Dean’s gun this time, at least. 

“Doc? Any way to know for sure, any test?”

“I've studied Beverly's blood work backward and forwards.“ Doctor Lee said, crossing her arms, and shaking her head. 

Duane turned towards her sharply. “My mom?!”

“It took three hours for the virus to incubate,” Doctor Lee bit her lip, thinking, not positively either before she added. “The sulfur didn't appear in the blood until then, so... no, there'd be no way of knowing. Not until after Duane turns.“

An easy, unbreakable calm settled over Dean then.

Well. That settled it. If Duane showed even a hint of turning, Dean would kill him. They had a timetable of about three hours. He could wait that long...

“Dean?” Sam’s voice broke through, and Dean cocked his head to let him know he was listening. “We gotta talk. Now.”

Mark came back then, ropes in hand. They shared a brief, no-words needed conversation and Dean lowered his gun as Mark advanced on Duane. Mark had it covered as far as Dean was concerned. He felt comfortable turning away, to go talk with Sam.

“Sit in this chair,” Was the last thing Dean was supposed to hear as a human as he left to follow Sam into the front of the clinic. Though he continued to listen as Duane obeyed, sitting, the slither of ropes as they were wound and tied. The chair creaked. Duane’s heartbeat was still thudding along too loud, but that was believable.

Sam turned to him as soon as they were out, far enough away.

“Yeah, Sam?” 

“This is it.” Sam looked pale, and shaken like he usually did when a vision was involved. “This is my vision,”

“Yeah... I kinda figured,”

Dean decided then that killing him was the only thing that made sense. Sam already had a vision of it happening. 

Inevitable.

“You can’t kill him, Dean, alright?” Sam demanded of him. “Not until we know for sure if he’s infected or not,”

Dean sighed through his nose, looking away. This wasn’t a cut and dry issue. When humans were involved, it never was. When demons mixed with humans, it was even worse. It would be one thing if it was an absolute surety that when a demon entered into a body it killed the host - but that wasn’t how that worked. With humans, everything was just so messy.

“I’ve really been relying too much on my nose,” Dean admitted. “Since I can’t smell the difference between infected or not, I... I’m falling back on what I used to be. And I gotta admit Sammy.”

He turned fully to his brother. 

“His whole family infected? He’s the only one who got away unscathed? It sounds fishy, even you gotta admit that,”

“All right, then,” Sam’s face was set in stone. His frown could level mountains. “We should keep him tied up, and we should wait and see.”

Dean wanted to roll his eyes so bad. “Wait and see for what? Him to hulk out?”

“Dean! He’s a person!” Sam said, shocked. 

“For now, sure,” Dean agreed, readily enough. “And when he’s not in a few hours? When we find out he’s infected? That’s just a few more hours of suffering for him. We should put him out of his misery, Sam,”

And it was just practicality speaking. Sam was staring at him, which made Dean’s spine tingle at the reproving look he was getting. He moved to push past his brother, not needing to psych himself up. It was the job. It needed to be done.

And if it was between Duane and the three other humans - it wasn’t a hard choice.

Sam’s hand shot out and slapped into his chest.

“You can’t just kill him,”

“This is the job,” He huffed, Sam’s hand a solid, grounding weight. Even though he couldn’t smell Sam very well - he could smell enough to be comforted. It didn’t stop what needed to be done. “It’s the shitty part of the job, yeah, but it’s what we’re here for.”

“It's supposed to be shitty, Dean. We're  _ supposed  _ to struggle with this, that's the whole point!”

_ I thought the point was to kill the monsters _ , Dean thought, unkindly. 

“What does that buy us? Huh?”

“I don’t know,” Sam scoffed. “A clear conscience, for one!”

_ A clear conscience?  _ Dean drew back and stared at Sam. 

“You want to talk about a clear conscience?” Dean demanded. “How about this. Five humans, well, and me, I’m cursed but I hope I’m more human that cursed on a good day -” He held up his hands, in a scale motion, with humans on the upwards hand and Duane “-versus one guy who might or might not turn into a monster,”

He shot Sam a snarky grin. “We’ve made these kinds of decisions over lunch, what makes this different?”

“What makes this different is that the guy is a human, and might not even be a little infected!”

“You wanna bet all our lives on that?”

Sam closed his mouth with a click before he pushed Dean a little to make him stumble back.

“Yes,”

Dean couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. Though, he should know better. Sammy was a softy; always had been, always would be. It was up to Dean to harden his heart and do the right thing, the logical thing. So he squared up, pushed past Sam, and told him as he passed.

“Well, I won’t,”

And he found himself, not for the first or the second time that day, pulling out his gun to turn it on a human. Sam turned to follow him, hurrying his longer footsteps to gain ground on him, but it was almost childs play to close the door and lock it, since that was how the clinic was built. For defense.

“DEAN!” Sam screamed at him through the glass on the door, hand banging as he was locked out. “Don’t do this, Dean! Open this door,”

* * *

Sam can’t hear like Dean can but he can hear the phantom sounds of Dean’s boots on the linoleum floor as he walks towards his execution room. He knows what he saw in the vision. Dean, gun drawn advancing on the tied up form of Duane. Duane, crying, pleading. Mark, Doctor Lee, and Pam all standing to the side, too scared to intervene, too scared to do the right thing.

And it all makes sense why Sam wasn’t in the room. 

Dean locked him out. He feels like an idiot that he missed it. In his arrogance, he was so sure he could convince Dean to stop, to not kill what he is absolutely sure is an innocent man. Dean was such a different beast than he was even six months ago. He was sure he could get through to him.

The doors not opening until Dean’s done, and Sam considers, briefly, breaking down the door. But he can’t. Can’t in good consciousness leave these humans, these for sure, completely demon-free people without another door to hide behind if those that are infected come their way.

So he backs away from the door, and sits on the counter, and waits. Heart heavy, and head in his hands.

_ Don’t do it Dean, _ He begged, trying to force the connection Dean seemed to effortlessly command with him in his doggie-form.

_ Please. Don’t do this. _

And then, he started to talk.

* * *

Dean has never really executed someone before.

Yes, he had decapitated, shot, stomped, slashed throats, wrenched hearts from still beating chests, and any number of horrible things, but he had never had the chance to plan a murder. Killing a monster wasn’t murder, it was retribution. It was justice. It was  **right** . Not like this. He had a chance to turn back. Sam had tried his damndest to convince him that his path was wrong.

This was a human, and if he was demon-infection free, then this would be murder.

And Dean had done a number of truly illegal things to people, but he’d never killed them. Stole, beaten up, lied, dug up graves, and the like, but never true blue murder. It was always the one line he wouldn’t cross.

And... and this wasn’t crossing that line, was it?

Duane was as good as infected. 

Right?

Every step brought Dean closer to the clinics backroom. He could hear them all talking. Doctor Lee was explaining about his mother, how she’d been infected, how they couldn’t take any chances. Duane was crying, and they sounded like real tears, but Dean had been face to face with demons that had the best acting this side of the world. Tears wouldn’t move him.

That is until he heard Sam’s.

His gun was in hand, he was a step away from turning the corner, and he heard Sam’s slight hitch of breath, the intake of breath that was just a little too sharp, and Dean suddenly wanted nothing more than to go and run and comfort him. Sam always made him soft. In a good way. But this... this wasn’t a good way.

He had a job to do.

And Sam would just have to live with it.

Steeling himself, he walked around the corner.

Duane noticed him first. Or perhaps the better phrasing was: he saw the gun first.

“No, you're not gonna ...” His eyes widened impossibly in his head. His gaze flickered between Dean and the gun in his hand. “No, no, I swear it's not in me!”

Pam paled dramatically. “Oh god, we’re all going to die,”

Mark was even hesitant. “Maybe he’s not infected... Maybes he's telling the truth?”

Dean couldn’t help but feel irritated. The one person who was supposed to be on his side, and even he was waffling. “No, he's not him, not anymore,”

Duane was getting hysterical now. Crying, snotty and not at all a pretty sight. 

“Stop it! Ask her, ask the doctor! It's not in me!”

Looking dutifully at Doctor Lee, he waited for her to confirm or deny, knowing she wouldn’t have enough details. And he was right. As her voice shook, and she couldn’t look the man tied up on the chair in the eyes.

“I . . . I can't tell,“

“Please, don't. Don't, please. I swear, it's not in me, it's not in me, I swear, I, I swear it's not in me. No, don't.“

_ How truly heartless must I have to be, _ Dean wondered,  _ not to feel a single thing? _

His hand didn’t even shake as he raised his gun.

“I got no choice,”

Except that was a lie. But it was a lie Dean needed almost as much as he needed air.

And then, he heard Sam speak.

_ “I know you can hear me Dean,”  _

His hand shook, but he listened.

_ “I know this past year has been rough on you... it’s been tough on both of us. But... Dean, if you go through with this - if you kill Duane, and he ends up being innocent - that’s on you. And you’re not a murderer, Dean. No matter what you believe,” _

Dean pressed his his lips in a firm line, and his hand really shook.

_ “You’re not. So. Don’t do this Dean. Don’t do this... for me,” _

**_Damnit, Sam. Damnit all to hell._ **

“Damn it!”

As he stalked off, back towards Sam, the whole room breathed a sigh of relief. Duane sobbing with relief so profound he was thanking god.

* * *

Sam raised his head when the door opened with a quiet, unassuming click.

“Dean?” He asked, heart in his throat. 

He hadn’t heard a shot, but - his breath caught in his throat as Dean slumped down next to him. Any noise he might have made stuck in his throat. Relief as profound as anything between them made him sag in relief.

“You talk fucking loud,” Dean mumbled, not looking near him. 

“Yeah,” Sam’s throat was dry and he croaked in relief. “Yeah I do,”

“Bitch,” 

“Jerk,”

And Dean ignored that niggling part of his chest that preened under the relieve smile Sam beamed at him with that smile.

* * *

Sam gave him time, which was a surprise, since Dean was sure as soon as he came back he would be smug, and self-righteous and relieved beyond any reasonable doubt. Instead, he was just relieved. So relieved that he allowed Dean time to just sit and maul over his actions. Sam read over John’s journal, and tried his hardest to figure out what was going on. And he allowed the silence for a whole hour, before finally throwing down the journal.

“So, you know I gotta ask,”

Dean snorted, but nodded. “Yeah, I know,”

“So why? Why didn't you do it?”

“For that, we’re going to need alcohol,” Dean got up and beckoned him forward. “Got no clue where it is though, lend a hand?”

“For alcohol?” Sam snorted. “Of course,”

They entered into the side-room of the clinic, staying far away from Duane. Sam didn’t want to tempt Dean. The only person inside the room was Pam. 

“Hey Pam,” Sam greeted. “How you holding up?”

The smell of sulphur cleared up in a moment of blinding, clarity ridden sniffle. Dean froze as the smell seemed to dissipate by leaps and bounds with every huff through his mouth. Which made it worse, almost unbearably so, when Pam turned on Sam. 

“It’ll all be over soon,” She coo’ed in a whisper.

Dean was disoriented, and his nose was so out of whack, it was back to the basics as he tried to right his sense of the world, all while Pam locked the door on them both. When Dean had been human, he could have rolled with the different punches without his nose - but now it was as if someone had snapped his arm. Debilitating. Sam was concerned for Dean, and he had eyes only for his brother, so he didn’t hear the click of a lock, or the sound of Pam’s shoes.

“Hey, whoa,” Sam moved to touch his arm, lightly, so as not to startle him. “You okay there Dean?”

It all seemed to happen so fast. 

Dean blinked and Pam was there. Another blink and she’d downed Sam with a tray, where she moved to straddle him - but not before hitting Dean, too. It was one motion, almost, back and forth, like a golf swing, and it knocked Dean out momentarily. Or, at the least, disoriented him, which wasn’t hard. His nose was screaming at him, his ears were ringing, and he was seeing double.

“You made this,” She slashed at Sam’s chest and he made a wounded, tight sound. “so much harder,” Her eyes darkened into pure black as she sliced her own palm. “than it had to be,  _ Sammy _ ,”

The smell of blood filled the air as Dean came back to himself, sitting up with a snarl.

Instinct led him as he transformed and lunged for the demons throat. 

He should be worried about the whole blood thing, but as a dog, he only had one concern: Sammy. His teeth tore into her windpipe and crushed as well as smothered. The sound she made settled the primal part of Dean that longed for a hunt. She gagged, helplessly clawing for air as she fell over writhing; Dean not letting go until she stopped twitching. Animal instinct blurred words, and sounds, and movement. Everything slow motion and too quick all at once.

“-an! Dean! Let go! Dean!”

And Sam’s incessant screaming.

Dean dislodged his canines from Pam’s neck, scraping his teeth as best he could against his tongue to try and fight the smell and flavor of her. He tried to use his paws to rub off the blood on his muzzle, into her shirt, but wasn’t having much luck. Definitely demon. Rotten eggs on the tongue was not a fun flavor but Dean dutifully dealt with it. Sammy was more important than this feeling of discomfort.

“Dean!”

_ :I’m fine, Sammy, _ : Dean snarled at him, ears laid against his skull in annoyance and at the loud wail.  _ :Are you good?: _

“Am I - Dean you got blood in your mouth,“

It was a statement filled with dread, but Dean felt none of it.

_ :Not what I asked,: _ Dean snarled. He could taste the stupid demonic filth.  _ :Are you good? Did she get you?: _

Sam took his hand away from his chest, where the long, thin wound lay. It bled freely. “I don’t know, Dean,”

And that is of course, when Mark, Duane, and Doctor Lee knocked down the door.

* * *

“What happened?” Doctor Lee demanded as she came to an abrupt stop feet away from Pam. Dean thought it was because of the gruesome scene before he realizes she was staring at him. Eyes wide as she realized a dog was sitting next to Pam, who was most certainly mauled. “Where the hell did  **that** come from?”

“Pam attacked me,” Sam answered, at least partially, leaning against the cabinet and wincing as he touched his chest. “Cut me open. Pretty sure she was infected,”

“Did she bleed on you?” Mark demanded. Dean noticed the gun then. Held upwards, away but professionally ready to arm himself against a threat. Specifically Dean. 

Duane took a step back. 

_ When had he been released? _

Dean’s hackles immediately rose at the sudden move and he snarled, in warning. Everyone froze then, before looking at him. As he was about to ramp up the growl he felt building in his chest, made of warning, and terror, and all kinds of bad emotions when Sam’s large warm hand came to rest on his head and he pushed him away. The snarl caught and stopped in his throat.

“Take it a step back, Dean,” His brother’s voice was tightly controlled and familiar. It didn’t stop him snarling at the intruders who’d tramped in on their weakened state, but he did ramp down the volume. Working himself over to a more protective position in front of Sam. “They’re not here to hurt either of us. Right guys?”

Every single one of them looked at Sam as if he’d lost his marbles.

Mark was the one who asked the most obvious, glaring question, gun now pointing at Dean. “... Dean?”

_ :Tell him to stop twitching,: _ Dean commanded Sam, with a snort as he pulled his fangs and his lips back down, licking his chops to smooth his fur. He still tasted demon, but it was going now. Stinking up his nose, sure, so it was useless again - but dissipating.  _ :I can fucking see he’s thinking about taking me out,” _

Sam raised a brow at him. Dean may not be turned towards him, but he knew his brother.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mark,” Sam parroted. Watching Mark’s gun with steely eyes. “Dean’s a little pissy at the moment. Which, speaking of, any particular reason you’re not turning back?”

_ :I can smell again,: _ Dean’s nose twitched as he took a hesitant step forward, sniffing. It all just smelled muddled. : _ Once my nose clears of demon, I should be good to find any more traitors in our merry little band,: _

He mimed wiping at his nose, and then sneezed.

“I’m sorry...” Doctor Lee shook. “Turn back?”

Silence. Again.

_ :You get to tell ‘em,: _

“Listen,” Sam huffed, running a bloody hand through his hair. “I really don’t have time to go through the whole spiel, but here’s the short and sweet: the supernatural is real, monsters are real, my brother Dean here was cursed, and he means you no harm, but he turns into a dog sometimes,”

Duane was the one who laughed, a short barky sound, nervous and wounded all in one. “I’m sorry - what?” But nobody else laughed, Doctor Lee stared while Mark’s jaw moved, silently mouthing something. Duane eventually trailed off, before gulping. “I’m sorry but are you really claiming that...  **that** dog is your brother?”

Sam patted Dean on the head. “He can understand you, so why don’t you ask him? Yes or no questions, though, he can really only nod or make noises, after all,”

Doctor Lee stared at Sam for a long moment before her eyes darted to Dean. She cleared her throat, clearly psyching herself up. Except Mark beat her to it.

“You’re Dean? The same Dean who killed Beverly?” 

Dean sat, obediently half on Sam’s lap, half on his leg, and nodded once, firmly while maintaining eye contact. John had taught him the importance of that, and he hoped it wasn’t lost on the military man in front of him. Mark stayed stone still, eyes tracking Dean like he was a threat, while flattering and all, didn’t make Dean feel any fuzzy feelings for the man.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” Duane said, in awe, then he was crouching down. “Alright, my turn, uhm, you ever kill someone as a dog?”

Dean hesitated but nodded. Webbers blood-taste flooding his mouth in a reminder that he felt would never leave him.

“Hey now,” Sam held out a hand. “Don’t ask him questions he can’t justify right now,” He hissed as he moved, the cut stinging. “He’ll transform back in a bit, but he’s trying to find if any of us are infected,”

“What?” Doctor Lee asked, startling, but then, suddenly, intensely into it. “How?”

Dean wagged his tail as he tapped his nose against his paw. It was a little awkward, and nowhere as charming as his usual human self would be - but it got the idea across.

“He can smell it?” Duane said, somberly serious, with a curious light in his eyes. “Huh. Why didn’t he just do that before?”

_ :Because dumbass, the whole place smelled of eau’d’demon,: _

Sam repeated his words, except much more polite, but no less firm.

“I call bullshit,” Duane snorted. “No way he can smell an infection in the bloodstream,”

“I don’t care what you believe,” Sam said, as he finally got up onto his feet, Dean right by his side. “Right now, I need to clean and patch this up,”

“Wait - did she get any blood on you? You never said...” Doctor Lee began to walk slowly over to Sam, well aware of Dean the entire time.

Sam hesitated, but he looked down at his wound. “I don’t think she did. She was close, some might have gotten in but Dean dropped her pretty hard and fast,” His lips twitched before he turned to Dean. “I am worried about you though,” Dean whined at the sound of sorrow in his voice, “you ripped her a new throat,” 

_ :I’m fine,: _

Sam hesitated. “We have no clue if your curse will counteract the infection,”

Dean snorted, puffing up. _ :Worth it. You were in danger,: _

Sam scowled at him. 

“I’m not more important than you, you jackass,” He pushed his smug face away. “Honestly - what happens if you’re infected? Huh? Can you even imagine this infection in a dog? You’d be a real life cujo!”

Dean didn’t think about that. He’d already had to go through this when he thought he was turning into some kind of werewolf, a year ago, he was pretty well inoculated against this fear. Still, he would be lying if he didn’t say he wasn't a little worried. For the both of them. Most, for Sam.

_ :I’ll let you know if I smell you turning,:  _ Dean could only say. He put his paw on Sam’s chest.

“Oh, yeah? And who’s supposed to smell  _ you  _ turning?”

Dean clamped his mouth shut and glared at him.

Doctor Lee broke into their rather tense bro-moment. “I’d still feel better if we got you both in quarantine,”

Dean’s hackles rose as that, a low noise ripping through his throat involuntarily. A chain reaction of Mark finally pointing the gun at him for the purpose of pulling the trigger and Duane stumbling back at the sudden noise that came next. Doctor Lee standing frozen, too close to get away if Dean decided to snap.

“Hey! Hey!” Mark yelled right back to Dean’s growl, gun pointed at him. “No way, not doing this today. Back the fuck down! You two are going to listen to  _ us  _ now,”

Sam raised his hands, slowly, intent not to hurt or to go fast. “Alright, alright, we hear ya, just... let Dean get a good smell of the room? Okay? See if anyone else is infected?”

Mark didn’t even hesitate, until Doctor Lee put her had on his arm. “It takes a few hours for the infection to take... they should be safe,” She gulped, looking at the brothers. “In theory,”

Duane chimed in. “Hey, the guy turns into a dog. I say we let him,” He shook a little. “I mean... What do we have to lose?”

* * *

They all let them be, in the end.

_ :Give me some time,: _ Dean told Sam when he finally managed to convince everyone that Dean was just going to smell, not touch, not bite, not lick, nothing more than smell them. _ :All I smell is demon in my nose,: _

“It’s been like twenty minutes, dude,” Sam huffed, crouching down in front of him with his newly bandaged chest. “You seriously can’t smell us and tell us?”

Dean resolutely refused to consider Sam being infected. Could be - not positive... Dean was a fucking hypocrite was what he was. He refused to consider Sam infected, because it wasn’t something that needed to be faced for a few hours.

: _ Nose _ ,: Dean stated, slow, like he was talking to an idiot, shaking his head.  _ :Not. Working.: _

Sam breathed harsly through his nose, before turning to everyone. “We gotta give him a little more time,”

Doctor Lee, after the initial shock, couldn’t stop herself from asking questions afterwards. “How does that even  _ work _ ?”

“What? His nose?” 

“No, the whole,” She gestured to all of him. “The nose being desensitised to certain smells for a period of time, makes sense, I get that -  I mean how did he get turned into what he is now? How does it work? Can he just transform whenever he wants?”

Sam sat down on the ground next to Dean as Doctor Lee kept asking question after questions. At least, until Sam held up a hand.

“Can I tell them?” Sam asked Dean for permission. 

_ :... I don’t see why not,: _ Dean said, nodding, before scooting closer to Sam and laying his head in his lap.  _ :It’s not like they know enough about the supernatural to guess anything. Keep it vague though, huh?: _

Sam pet his ears nicely, just the way he liked, before answering.

“He got bit by another cursed-dog, about a year ago. It took... a month or so for him to turn into a dog for the first time. After that, he can change pretty much whenever he wants,”

“So he’s staying as a dog right now... because...?” Duane asked.

“His sense of smell is stronger as a dogs and he’s just waiting for the sense of smell to come back.” Sam sighed, feeling pretty tired. “He can tell when it does a lot faster when he’s actually in the form he needs,”

“And you can speak to him,” Mark noted. “In your mind.”

_ :Ding, ding, give the man a prize,: _ Dean stated, raising his head towards Mark, who had long since put the gun away and was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“What makes you say that?” Sam asked, wearily. 

“Just a guess,”

_ :Pretty good guess,:  _

And then, much like his nose had seemed to clear up before, his sense of smell was back. He stood up, suddenly, ears perked as he sniffed deeply. With how his nose had cleared, Dean was immediately suspicious of the why, and the how, basically everything. But he wasn’t about to look a gift-horse in the mouth.

“Dean?”

_ :Nose is back!: _ Dean said, taking off to sniff Doctor Lee’s pants. She was clean. He could practically taste the lotion she used, what type of body wash she used, the perfume she had spritzed almost entirely on her right side. She smelled faintly of demon, but that wasn’t anything. The entire air still stunk of it.

He moved on, not saying a thing. 

Mark was next. He tensed up where Dean sniffed his leg, and went absolutely rigid when Dean went up on his hind legs, paws settling on the counter next to him to get a better sniff. He was also fine, and Dean could tell he smelled of cigarette smoke, but he didn’t actually smoke. He also used the same dirt cheap brand of deodorant and shampoo that Sam and Dean did. 

Then he turned to sniff Duane and found him gone.

_ :They’re clean, let’s go find Duane,: _

And he was trotting off through the clinic to the front where he could hear Duane making sounds. Only he wasn’t in the front, he was in another room, looking out the window. The room looked to be some kind of examination room, just like the other side, the back, but a little more open.

He smelled fine, from a distance, but as soon as Dean was close, a step too far into the room, the door slammed shut behind him. He was too well trained to actually look behind him, but he did freeze.

_ :Fuck.: _

Duane’s eyes flooded black and he smirked like the devil himself.

“You know puppy, you’ve ruined my fun!” He snarled, pushing Dean away and back to the wall. Dean growled at him, but he was a dog right now, and the only one who could hear him was Sammy. “Sucks a little that you’re immune to the plague we’ve cooked up, but eh, whatever,”

_ :Sam! It’s - : _

And then Dean was picked up bodily by the demon’s telekinesis and thrown into a wall. 

He groaned as he landed, hard, on his side. The demon was quick to hop over. One boot on his ribs.

“Can’t stay long now, but that’s alright, Dean-o,” Duane, or whatever demon had decided to take up residence inside his meat-suit said. “Just came to see how this little experiment played out. Seeing the Winchesters cornered is always fun, too, though, gotta admit that,” He smirked, smelling that foul stench of sulphur up close that Dean wondered how he could have missed it. He heard Sam coming, those huge feet of his stomping.

_ :Why the fuck here?: _ Dean demanded, stalling for time.  _ :Why this town?: _

Duane threw his head back and laughed. 

“Oh Dean-o,” He said, not kind or young at all, his voice as emotionless as the void. “Why  **not** this town? Why  **not** these people? Why  **not** you and Sammy Winchester?”

Dean didn’t believe him for a second, but at the moment the demon was stepping on his ribs and he couldn’t move other than to breathe shallowly, scrabbling uselessly for some kind of purchase. He snapped at his leg, but he was in a position of power. He couldn’t move his head close enough to bite through jeans let alone leather of a boot.

_ :I’m gonna rip your throat out _ ,: Dean promised him.

“Even though the meats still alive?” the demon asked, cocking his head curiously. Dean would have hesitated had his ribs not been stomped. 

“Thought you Winchesters didn’t do that kind of stuff,” He shrugged with that slimy smile. “Oh well, fine by me. Been a while since I’ve had that kind of foreplay,” His hand started to creep down, as if to pet Dean. 

_ :Touch me and I’m snapping your hand clean off, alive-meat-suit or not,: _

The hand paused. Because the demon cackled.

“Oh, I can’t wait to bring you to the boss, he’s going to  _ love  _ this development.” 

Dean froze, glaring.  _ :What the fuck does that mean?:  _

“A familiar... I mean, what are the chances of that?” Demon-Duane said, ignoring him. “It’s like winning the lottery! You know how much you’d go for on the market?”

Before Dean could ask him what the absolute hell he was on about - the door was kicked in, and a shotgun shot went off.

Duane jerked forward with an unholy screech as the smell of rocksalt and ozone filled the air, pitching forward against the wall and giving Dean ample opportunity to run. Which he used to get behind Sam, before finally transforming. He was back to human Dean in a second.

“Son of a bitch is a full blooded demon, Sammy,” Dean huffed. “No virus, just a dirtbag from hell using the kid as a meatsuit.”

Sam cocked the gun, reloading before turning the rifle back to Duane. Only Duane had had enough of playing nice and was headed for the window. Without hesitation, he crashed through and in a shower of glass shards rolled into a landing on the ground outside. Where he then ran for it.

“Fucking coward,” Dean snarled, running to the window to see Duane disappearing into the forest. 

“Are you alright, Dean?” Sam asked, grabbing Dean and dragging him over to check him out. Sam’s hands patted him down sure and firm, before Dean slapped them away. Perhaps a little less steady than Sam.

“Fine, fine,”

The demons words sat heavy in his mind.

Mark and Doctor Lee came running in seconds later. 

“What the hell happened?” Mark demanded while Doctor Lee exclaimed. “You’re human again!”

“Duane was infected,” Sam said, hand still on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean came in to confront him, or - er, to smell him. But Duane was ready for him,”

“Damn near broke my rib,” Dean muttered, leaning back against the counter at his back. “Fucking asshole,”

Doctor Lee came over to check him out, “Does this hurt?” she asked right before she pressed on his ribs.

“Ouch, yes, but not broken bad,” Dean groaned. “I know broken. This isn’t that.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” She huffed, while prodding at his side, lifting his shirt. “I think you’re right though. Nothing looks broken,”

Then she hesitated, her smell sharply twisting towards nervousness. Guilt. Dean got it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean pushed her hand away. “You can put Sam and I in quarantine. You both are clean, so I’ll trust you that far,”

Mark raised a brow. “‘Let us’, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean smirked, all predator, “‘Let’, believe me, Sam and I have the skills to get past the both of you. It’s better for all of us involved to put us away and you two make your escape,”

“Hey now, Dean - “

Dean cut Sam off. “We’re either both infected or both not infected. We’ll deal with what comes, as it comes,” Then he turned to Mark and Doctor Lee. “The plan stays the same. You’ve got the weapons, the explosives, and you both know the town. It’s the smartest move,”

He made sure to look Mark in the eyes when he said that. The man knew when to do what he had to do. Perhaps he would have protested had it been just him, but he also had Doctor Lee to look out for. He squared his chin, and gave Dean a nod, which was as close as a spoken promises as Dean was about to demand.

Relaxing, Dean felt a little better, especially since he refused to think about Sam and his own timely demise. Or rather, if the demon was being honest, just Sam’s. 

“We’ll head out an hour after first light,” Mark claimed. Doctor Lee spun and glared at him. “Angela, we’ve got no choice,”

And that was how Dean finally learned Doctor Lee’s first name.

* * *

Doctor Lee, Mark, and Duane had left perhaps ten minutes ago.

Sam and Dean were free for now, since they knew that symptoms didn’t show for at least three hours - and they still had one to go. Sam had managed to keep his chick-flick-moments contained, but he couldn’t hold it in forever. Dean loved and hated that about him.

“I’m sorry, Dean,”

“For what?” Dean asked right back. 

“For all this shit. The visions. Getting us trapped here. For getting infected,”

“Hey! We don’t know if you’re infected, Sammy. And we can’t believe that demon when he said I’m immune, got it? We’re in this together. Through hell or high water,” He paused, contemplative. “Besides, what would a familiar like me do without their person?”

Try as he might, he couldn’t take the levity out of the situation and Sam looked stricken. 

“Damnit, Dean, you can always find someone else!”

Dean snorted giving him an ‘are you crazy’ look. “The only people who have magic are witches, and no thank you.” He shivered in disgust. “Plus, I don’t think I’m going to find another hunter with your kind of mojo, Sam, no offense. So this is it for me.”

“Dean... what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, if you go the way of the dodo, Sam, then I’m going the way of the dog,”

He spoke firmly and clearly, and yet Sam just stared at him uncomprehendingly. 

“So what, so you're just going to give up?” Sam asked in a surprisingly strong voice. “You're just gonna lay down and take it? Look, Dean, I know this stuff with Dad has -”

_ “Fuck the stuff with dad, _ ” Dean snapped, completely unprepared for the vitriol in his own voice.

Sam too. He snapped back in surprise. 

“Dean, you don’t mean that...”

“And what if I do?” Dean challenged. “What if I want to say fuck dad, and fuck this life, and ... and fuck it all? Huh?”

Sam was, for probably the first time in so many months, speechless. Dean deflated, seeing Sam like this. He looked away, unable to look his brother in the eye when he admitted the rest of what he had to admit. If this was Sam’s last moments as an uninfected, and Dean’s last however-long it took for the curse to take him full canine, he would never have spoken.

But it was. And it is.

“I'm tired, Sam. I'm tired of this job, this life, this curse... this weight on my shoulders, man. I'm tired of it,”

“Dean...” 

“So just - don’t fucking think this is a new thing,” He spat. “I’ve been planning for any eventuality, and your death, just like my death, is going to be unavoidable someday... I just wasn’t expecting it this soon,”

“So that’s it?” Sam demanded. “We just fight the good fight and then give up?”

Dean cocked his head at him. “You know this is how it was always going to go down. We don’t get to grow old and senile,”

“But I fucking want to,” And Sam had tears in his eyes and Dean wanted to hug him, but as a person - he was still squeamish.

As a dog, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. So he did.

They both were sitting on the examination table, so it was easy to transform and then curled up with his head in Sam’s lap.

_ :I’m sorry, Sammy,: _

“Yeah.... me too,”

And then the door to the clinic opened. 

* * *

Dean hadn’t been paying attention to the outside world, too caught up in Sam’s final moments and his own fate. So when Angela came back around the corner of the hallway, breathing a little hard, flushed, excitement singing in her veins - Dean wasn’t sure what to think.

“You'd better come see this,“

Sam and Dean shared a look, dog to human, before they both followed her out as they were.

Outside, in the mornings clear air, Dean was shocked to find not a hint of demon smell, no sulphur, no blood, no nothing.

“What... where did they all go?” Sam asked, eyes wide as he looked round the abandoned town square. 

Angela was the one who answered.

“There's no one. Not anywhere. They've all just . . . vanished.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Mark muttered to himself, wearily watching the world around him. “I mean... where would they all go?”

_ :We’re not in kansas anymore,: _ Dean stated, sitting and wondering what the hell this was all about.

Was the demon plague on a time table? The all consuming smell of sulphur had gone away a few hours ago... perhaps that was when the blood became inert? Or carried away it’s victims? Dean wasn’t an expert on anything but killing monsters, so this one was way way over his head and pay grade.

“You think... You think this has anything to do with the infection?” Mark asked.

“How?” Doctor Lee demanded. “What infection makes people run off? What infection makes people that violent?”

Mark and Doctor Lee looked to Sam and Dean then.

Sam sighed, hand in Dean’s soft head-fur. Doctor Lee and Mark looked to them for answers.

“Don’t look at us. This is completely new for us,”

And two hours later, as Sam and Dean sat on the examination table, wondering how they were still alive and kicking, Angela turned to them in awe.

“Nothing,” Shaking her head, she look in disbelief into the microscope again. “Not for either of you,”

Dean had only allowed her his human blood, but still.

“How is that possible?” Sam demanded, right back in the same kind of awe. “Dean was definitely exposed. And I was pretty sure I was... How could neither of us be infected?

“Maybe his curse protected him?” Angela shrugged. “And you... well, you just dodged a bullet,”

“None of this makes any sense,”

Doctor Lee nodded. “Believe me, I know, and I mean when you compare samples with the Tanner’s all we get is - what the hell?”

Dean perked up. “What’s up doc?” She was staring in incredulous shock at her equipment.

“Their blood. There's no trace of the virus. No sulfur, nothing,” 

Sam and Dean were silent, but then Dean got up and exclaimed loudly. 

“Alright, that’s it, we’re out of here,”

Doctor Lee left everything behind as she walked right in front of them. “Ditto,”

It only took them a couple minutes to gather what they needed, but then they all were outside. Mark and Doctor Lee at his jeep, Sam and Dean at the Impala. The goodbyes were a lot less awkward than either of the Winchester brothers were expecting. Probably since Mark and Doctor Lee still had a kind of wide-eyed disbelief about them.

“We’re headed over to Sidewinder, sticking together, get the authorities up here. If they'll believe us... Take care,”

“We will,” Dean claimed. “You two do so as well,”

“We will, and thank you Marshals,” Doctor Lee waved with a smile. “You were invaluable,”

Sam smiled at her and Dean gave her a rather sharky grin. 

“Probably should come clean,” he said, as he popped his car door open. “We ain’t Marshals,” 

Doctor Lee’s hand froze in the air.

“Oh,”

* * *

After everything. After fighting for their lives. After Sam being thought to be infected. After Dean almost being infected. After making their decision to stick with each other, through thick or thin or death. After finding out Sam is immune just like him, but without the curse. After just... After the shit storm that is the demon virus, Dean can’t hold it in any longer.

“We need a vacation.” He said to Sam as they both stop to share a drink in Oklahoma, next to a big lake inside a cow-fence. Those big dumb animals barely raise their heads to look at them, but Dean can sense they are more aware of them than he would have ever thought.

“What?” Sam asks, shocked, as he blinked owlishly. He’s still coming down from the high of everything that had happened.

“I don't know, man. I just think maybe we ought to . . . go to the Grand Canyon.”

Sam stares at him.

“The Grand Canyon.” Sam says it so flatly, Dean feels the need to explain himself. He shrugged, not looking at Sam.

“Yeah, you know, all this driving back and forth across country, you know I've never been to the Grand Canyon?”

Sam shook his head. Clearly he hadn’t known, but now he was thinking about it. Those wheels turning behind those bright eyes of his, making the brain of his work. Sensing that Sam was listening, and not just because Dean had surprised him, Dean continued to paint a picture.

“Or we could go to L.A.. or Hollywood, see if we can bang Lindsay Lohan.”

She probably wouldn’t notice he was a dog. Well, not in that way, anyway.

“I -” Sam shakes his head. “Why are you saying this?”

“After everything we’ve been through, you have to ask?” 

Sam opens and closes his mouth. 

“Why  **now** ?”

Dean chuckled. “What, death scare isn’t enough to make you want to go on a vacation?”

Sam was unimpressed with him. 

“Last year, before the familiar-deal, you were kidnapped by a crazy shapeshifter, and you were way closer to death a hundred other times in the last year alone,” Sam made sure to talk slow and measured. “But it’s a demon virus that’s got you freaked out?” 

Dean shook his head. Not sure how to say what needed to be said. They’d already had their heart to heart, but this was different.

“This was different,” He said, and knew it was useless. 

Because it wasn’t different. It was the same. Always the same. Danger and fight or flight, always choosing fight. Sam and he continuing down this path, never stopping, always just... doing what they always did.

“Bull,” Sam said, hand on his shoulder turning him back. “Listen. You’ve been getting pretty good about talking out your feelings... “

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hey if you’re going to complain - “

Sam held his hands up defensively.

“I am so, so not complaining,” He sighed. “I just - listen Dean, talk to me. I mean, who else are you going to talk to? Doctor Lee? I don’t think so. You're my brother, all right? So whatever weight you're carrying, let me help a little bit,”

Dean refused to look Sam in the eyes. 

“I can't. Not this,” He admitted. “I promised.”

When Sam sucked in a breath, Dean hunched his shoulders. Shit. He’d said too much. Sam was smart. Super smart. He could put together scraps of information out of nothing. Now Sam was going to be like a dog with a bone. 

“Who?” Sam demanded. But Dean didn't need to say anything. Sam was quick. “Dad?” 

He wasn’t letting this go.

“Dean what the hell did Dad make you promise?”

Man, it was like it was being pulled right from his chest. He didn’t just  _ want _ to tell Sam, he  **had** to. It was the first time he felt so out of control. Like Sam was  _ actively _ controlling him. Panic came next. It was closely followed by outrage. His breath caught in his throat, but the answer came. 

“Before he died...” Dean couldn't believe he was actually saying this. 

“What Dean?”

“He told me...” He gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t actually stop himself. “About you,”

“What?”

It was like pulling nails. Dean clenched his teeth. He couldn’t not say anything. It was as if his mouth was off its track, a runaway train. Not even when he had attacked Webber had he felt so uncontrolled. Like he was just an inhabitant in his body, not a driving force. He clenched his teeth, harder. 

And still, it did nothing.

“He said that he wanted me to watch out for you, to take care of you. This time was different,” Dean said, the truth crawling out of his mouth. “He said that I had to save you.”

Sam leaned heavily against the Impala next to him. “Save me from what?”

“I know... that’s what I asked him,” Dean huffed. “I mean, I’m cursed and he still said I have to save  **you** , that nothing else mattered; and that if I couldn't, I'd...” He felt his throat close up around the words. 

“You'd what, Dean?” 

Fuck. When did Sam get so pushing? When did Dean become a pushover? And why did this feel like an inevitable thing. Like falling off a cliff. Like the truth would set them all free?

“That I'd have to kill you,”

The clearing was deathly silent. Sam’s heartbeat didn’t start a triple beat until it seemed to dawn on him what Dean said. Then his heartbeat, his breathing - it all kicked up a notch. Dean hunched his shoulders waiting for the outburst. Now that the truth was there, now that it couldn’t be shoved back in its box...

Dean wasn’t sure what else to do. He deflated, aware his anger was nothing next to Sam’s shock.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Kill me?” Sam scoffed and huffed and one. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t let Dean even try to defend himself or his words. He became more and more animated. More and more agitated.

“I mean, he must have had some kind of reason for saying it, right? Did he know the demon's plans for me? Am I supposed to go Darkside or something? What else did he say, Dean?”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, again, with the sudden and absolute obedience, but Sam just kept going.

“So what? Everything you said in the clinic - what, was that a lie?”

Dean drew back in alarm. “Of course not, Sam!”

Sam’s scent took a trip down, smelling sickly sweet and disturbing. 

“You kept this from me! How could you? After everything we’ve been doing - I - I can’t,” Sam spluttered. He was angry. Dean didn’t need his nose or his ears to tell him that. His face said he was angry and... worse he was hurt. Betrayed. “I thought we were making progress! I thought we were getting out of this stupid cycle! We’ve been doing so good and it was all for nothing!”

Dean wasn't exactly sure what that meant.

But he knew he couldn’t interrupt. He wanted to, he needed to, but suddenly his wants and his needs floated into the background of his mind. He sighed.

“Listen, Sam - “

“I can’t do this Dean.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut. He heard the truth in his brother’s voice. Saw the truth in the way he held his body. And he knew, right then, right there; Sam was going to walk away. He was going to leave. He was impulsive when he was angry, just like dad had always been. He was going to be angry, he was going to fume, and he was going to just walk his little self right out of Dean's life.

And he wasn’t coming back.

Again.

Their earlier conversation was forgotten, the promises stale, and Dean knew this was... this was a turning point.

_ But that was par for the course with Sam, wasn’t it? _ Dean thought bitterly as they stood only a few feet apart, but lord - it was like a chasm had opened up between them. It didn’t matter what had happened in the clinic, it didn’t matter how they had reached out to each other and had responded, how they had fought together. Every bit of that was ripped apart to make room for doubt, and hate, and every little small voice in Sam’s head that had spoke against Dean.

And Dean hated himself for the one thought that slithered in:

_ This is how we’re free. _

Because he wasn’t stupid. Sam had compelled him to answer, to tell the truth. To put Sam first, before Dean, to put his thoughts, his feelings, his emotions - to the very forefront. He had never done it before, but that didn’t mean this time didn’t count for nothing. Didn't mean that he shouldn't be freaked out over a 'demon blackmarket' for familiars like him. Didn't mean he could live in this simple existence of living for Sam. Solely for Sam.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, feeling hollowed out. “I - “

Sam’s scent was unchanging, his frown was more pronounced, and he turned his head away.

“Just - don’t, Dean,” Sam refused to look at him. “Just... just go Dean,”

It hurt. As a familiar and as a brother, the hurts were different but they merged into one kind of pain.

It wasn’t an exactly dismissal, but Dean took it as such. It hurt, but it was expected. Dean had been waiting for it for a while, honestly. Ever since he transformed. Ever since their father had dropped his stupid truth bomb. Ever since Sam had become more and more... used to being the top dog.

Sam already had the keys, it wasn’t like Dean was going to have use for things that needed hands soon enough, since he was pretty sure a few days away from Sam was enough to turn him doggie indefinitely. And he didn’t feel the need to grovel, and beg; something he was feeling grateful for. 

Even if Sam had unknowingly compelled him, he was also giving him his freedom with his anger.

Ever since Dean had realized that Sam held control over his whole life... he thought any moment like this would lead to him panicking. Throwing away everything that he was for a few seconds of forgiveness that would never really be forgiveness, Sam was too stubborn for that. 

Dean was grateful that turning away only hurt the usual way it might.

Heart ripping pain, sure, but at least he felt like a person while it happened.

“Fine,” He said, without turning back. “I’ll see you when I see you,”

And he walked off.

Sam didn’t follow. 

The only sound as Dean walked off was the steadily fading sound of a heartbeat returning to a steady beat. The fading smell of Sam, the scent that Dean would know even if he was half dead. And the forest swallowed him up as he walked away, feeling free’er and more profoundly different than he ever had before. 


	13. While Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean leaves Sam behind and tries to survive as a familiar without a person... perhaps a little less successfully than he had wanted. Then... Then Dean meets a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE BEEN WAITING TO POST THIS CHAPTER FOR TOO LONG!  
> :D  
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and the next, cause I have had them written/mostly written for months. I've just been a busy bee and hadn't had the time to edit!

After he let Sam have the car, Dean took off on four paws, not seeing a point in even trying to be human. He was a ways away from the nearest town, but he wanted to be alone. So, alone he was. He followed back-road after back-road until the sun started to rise in the distance, in between two giant fir trees. He was so lost he wasn’t even sure if he could get cell-reception where he was. Not that he cared to try. Without Sam... things were a lot duller. And not just as in excitement, it was literally a duller color. Dean was sure he had been able to separate blue and green and red and brown, but now it was all mottled. 

_Was this what Tanner had warned him about? Was being away from his ... ‘person’ really already affecting him?_

It couldn’t have been more than a few hours. Two at the max.

He cursed himself as he curled up next to the road, just far enough off that nobody would see him.

He felt... miserable. Achy almost. Like he was coming down with a cold. Which was... decidedly uncomfortable. For as long as he had been a Familiar, through storms, soaked to the bone, jumping out of burning buildings, and being shot at - he’d yet to get sick.

_ Was this all because he left Sam? _

God. Dean hoped not. This was more than just misery. This was... this was something he didn’t have a word for.

He stayed curled up for an hour or so, basking in the warmth of the sun but shivering from the cold, wet ground. His ears picked up the sound of an old pick-up coming his way, but he paid it no mind. He was far off the beaten path. If anyone saw him they were more likely to assume he was road-kill than a stray.

He huffed a barky-laugh. 

_ He was, wasn’t he? _ He was a  _ stray _ . As a human, the word was just alone, but as an animal, as a dog... stray fit. Not quite abandoned, but... but god it was a near thing. That was the feeling. He felt abandoned. Alone, without anyone. Not a new feeling either when it came to Sam. Or his father. It was just... surprisingly breathtaking. He curled in on himself a little further, paying attention to the rumbling of the old truck as it puttered closer and closer to him - and he listened as it continued on its merry-way. 

This was why he took backroads. 

Another hour and he convinced himself to rise and start walking again. This time, keeping his nose out for anything smelling like a McDonalds. He wasn’t hungry yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time. This time, he kept to the roads, out in the open. People out here wouldn’t think twice about a collared dog walking by itself. They’d assume he was a farm-dog. They would assume he had a place.

They would assume wrong.

It took him about four more hours to get the trail of something meaty, greasy, and artery clogging. Which made him pause. He was close, another half an hour, but he was faced with a dilemma. With Sam gone, he now had a time limit to his change. Being human had just become a privilege, not a right.

That stung. Dean was man enough to admit it stung, but what else was he supposed to do? Find a witch?

_No_. Dean would not actively go searching for a witch. Especially still collared.

Something within him growled at that very train of thought. As if it was a worse betrayal than Sam taking the car and leaving to clear his head, to escape him. Because being abandoned was one thing. Allowing himself to accept it was another.

As he reached the Wendy’s he had smelled, he decided to change this once at least. 

He relished having hands. Enjoyed this short, stubby nose, the way his tongue dragged over his dull ordinary teeth. Clothes had once been such a constraint, but now he felt so...  **warm** . He soaked in the lukewarm, stale air of the establishment as he walked in. And he smiled brightly at the teenage cashier as he gave his order for way more food than he would be able to stomach. Six double-cheese burgers, five frys, and a large drink.

If nothing else, that would last two meals. And carrying a carryout bag in his jaw might get tiring, but it was the best option.

He ate quickly, and fiddled with his phone. He took a moment to mull over everything before he decided to call the person on his mind.

Tanner picked up immediately.

_ “Dean,” _ He greeted. _ “Thought I would hear from you sooner,” _

“Hey Tanner...” He got to the point. “Sam and I have parted ways... What can I expect?”

_ “... No chance of going back?” _

“Not right now, no,”

There was a pause.

_ “You’ve got about twenty four hours of being human without any adverse or weird affects,”  _ Tanner started dispassionately.  _ “You might lose colors and the ability to dial in your scent and hearing, but that’s fairly standard. Even if you spend those twenty four hours as a dog, you’d only have probably a half life of a half hour for every hour spent as a dog.” _

“Well. Shit.”

_ “Yeah. Shit is right. After that, you’re gonna be searching for a battery. You'll know when you find one after spending more than a few days alone. Be that witch, or person, it won’t matter when you get there. It’s going to be abrupt and startling. When you find them... And... Listen, Dean, this is important,” _

Dean closed his eyes tight. Great. Just what he wanted. “I’m listening.”

_ “You’re not going to want to say no. The person will come right up to you, and not even running will stop you for turning back around. Right now, you can, but in a week? In two weeks?” _

Dean kept his eyes shut, and clenched his fist. 

For a half second, he wanted to call Sam. At least with Sam he knew what he was getting - but that wouldn’t do. Sam had the car. Sam had a phone that he just had to not answer. Sam was the human. Sam was the battery that Dean needed. Sam was the one with the power in this relationship. 

And Dean was finally realizing how stifling it had been being unable to breath in the presence of Sam...

Sure, Sam was like the sun, which Dean orbited, but now that he was literally cut loose... 

Was it better? Was it worse?

_ “Still there?” _

Dean sighed.

“Yeah. Thanks for the info,”

_ “No problem... Dean?” _

“Yeah?”

_ “You really should call Sam,” _

Dean remembered Sam’s smell. Remembered his angry scent. How pissed he had been at him, at their father, at everyone.

“Yeah... not right now,”

_ “Might be too late when you think about it...” _

Dean breathed in. “Yeah.” 

It would be. Dean would deal with it when he was forced to.

And the call was over. He stood and left the building with his leftovers. Off to... well, off to wherever the road lead him. He decided, at the very least, he was going to travel closer to as close to the center of America as he could. So he could be ready for whenever his brother finally decided to get his head out of his ass.

But that was still a lot of miles between Oregon and... well anywhere else.

* * *

 

When all's said and done, Dean’s been walking, hitching rides (as a human and as a dog) for about a week. He manages to get much farther than he thought he would, but that’s still not saying much. Salt Lake City Utah is an okay pit-stop, but Dean doesn’t want to stay in the city. Especially not with colder weather drifting in sooner rather than later.

So he hitches a ride on the back of someone’s basic plywood trailer down to another little town, called Herber or Herman or something. He gets off at a park and settles in to wait the night. He figures, another week of this and he’ll be in Nebraska or South Dakota, or at least close to Bobby’s place.

Bobby is a better bet than anyone else... and at the least he can help him find someone who isn't a witch.

Sam still hasn’t called.

Dean stays in his dog-form more often than not. Necessity the mother of survival. 

He’s hardier as a creature. Can take more abuse, doesn’t get as exhausted and tired, and needs to eat far, far less than human Dean does. For the first little while, he thinks it’s gonna fuck with his head. Being in animal-mindset and then going two-legged is disorienting on a good day, but with lots of shifts in between... it’s not pleasant, but it’s manageable. He doesn’t have that option out on the road. Which is why he’d shifted just yesterday for about an hour, not wanting to push it, but wanting to remember what hands and dull human teeth felt like.

That’s not to say that Dean exactly misses being human. The more time he spends as a dog, the more he realizes how lucky he got the first time he’d been trapped for a month. This time... he’s used to the dog. He’s used to that part of him. He’s used to that parallel-mind. The animal instincts overlaid over his thoughts like a spiderweb. He couldn’t think as a human without also thinking as a dog. It was confusing, but only when he actually was able to turn human, which he had been unable to for the past day.

Settling down in the park under a park bench that offers far too little shade, Dean tried to get in a cat nap.

 

It’s an accident. That’s how it happens. An accident.

Which, really, isn’t Dean’s entire life just one giant accident? Is someone sitting out there laughing at him?

It’s an accident, he’s sure. Until he’s not.

He’s not sure, can’t be sure, even as he stares at the little old lady that had come over, her bag full of  _ woolAnimalMeatCowMilkCheese _ . Stares as she looks at him, over those half-moon glasses of hers. Her face full of a kind of impishness that Dean understood as a particularly supernatural trait that only the old and wise had perfected.

“Lovely day, eh?” She asked, setting down her supplies and getting out her knitting.

Dean was confused for a moment before he understood that she was talking to him. A dog. A dirty dog who was laying underneath the bench trying to get some shut-eye before some kid came over and tried to pet him. Because even filthy, he still had a collar, and that apparently meant  **safe** to every rug-rat in a mile radius. Not that he minded. He liked the company, but he also liked sleep.

_ :You know, talking to animals is a sign your mind is slipping,: _ Dean tells her, keeping his head on his paws.

It’s been days since someone has talked to him. Answered him. He speaks in his mind and everyone just coo’s over him. Scratching his ears, giving him bits of their burgers, fries, whatever he can puppy-dog-eye away from their children or the soft-hearted adults.

Yet, the old lady snorted at him.

“The day I lose my mind is the day my ex-husband gets visitation rights to the grand-kids.”

Dean froze, before scrabbling out from under the bench and getting to four paws. Better to run away with. He skittered away a meter, but the old lady hadn’t moved an inch. She just smiled at him, that amused little smirk. Yet, he doesn’t smell any treachery from this little old lady in her sky-blue dress, walker with tennis balls on the feet, and knitting bag. No Sulphur. Hell, no magic, either. This woman though, is clearly  **_other_ ** .

_ How else could she speak to him? _

There is a war inside Dean. Run. Stay. The animal half of him saying to listen to the smells, to the facts, to instinct. Everything in him is telling him she means no harm. Dean’s been living on instinct too long to stop now. The little voice that reminds him of Tanner's words is washed away in the pure relief he feels that he's a person, that someone hears him.

_ :You can... you can understand me?: _

“Of course I can, dear,” The woman’s smile grew into a small, sad smile. “I may be eighty five, but I know how to spot a Familiar when I see one.”

So she didn’t just talk to him, she  **knew** what he was. The dog inside Dean was more than curious at that.

His vision flashed, colors bleeding in he hadn’t seen for so long... And Dean understood why Tanner had said he wouldn’t want to say no. His ears were focused. His eyes were clear. And still knowing that - he couldn't walk away.

_ :... How?: _

“You have a kind of,” She waved her hand idly through the air, as if chasing flies. “ _ Aura _ about you.”

_ :Aura?: _ He asked, skeptical.

“Kind of like a glow. I imagine most Witches wouldn’t know the first thing about looking for a Familiar, but I haven’t forgotten. It’s not something you forget,” She winked. “Once you learn it,  _ you learn it _ .”

Dean stood, awkwardly in front of her. Instincts warring to run, to stay, to talk, to bolt, to sit, to head for the hills. Except he doesn’t feel more one, over the other. It’s just the human part of him that wants to run away from this Witch, for that must be what she was. The other part of him, the part of instinct, and animal, and Familiar - knew she wouldn’t hurt him. Just like he knew the Harvelle’s wouldn’t hurt him.

And the part that had listened to Tanner tried to care about saying ‘no’.

Was it because he had been without Sam for so long? Was it because she was a witch? Was that why it was such an attractive option to sit and talk? Was it because she responded?

_ :I’m... I’m pretty new to all this, _ : Dean admits, but it's like the floodgates are released. A week without talking to anyone... it wears on a person. And it's a little old lady too... Dean’s got a weakness, it seems. : _ It’s been a little under a year since I was bit. I’m still learning...:  _

She hummed noncommittally as she knit away. She wasn’t even acting particularly interested in him...

Dean always appreciated women who were being hard to get.

_ :Can anyone find Familiars by their Aura?:  _ He asked.

The woman put down her knitting then and reached forward to pull Dean’s muzzle, and Dean, forward. She was gentle, those frail hands of hers surprisingly firm, but Dean still stiffened in shock as he scrabbled to right his forepaws. People petted him, sure, but they never grabbed. It was a pretty stupid move that many animal lovers knew not to do to a feral animal. 

Yet the old lady just looked at him with kind, old eyes.

“Oh, you poor dear,” She whispered, petting him between his ears and brushing off a fair bit of dirt onto her dress. “You were bit huh? It’s not easy on the ones who are forced to be Familiars. The learning curve is a bitch...”

Where Sam had been supportive but ultimately completely out of his league, this fragile old lady seemed to extrude confidence in every movement. What Sam couldn’t learn in a manner of a year, this woman had in spades. And Dean still didn’t know what that was. Just that it was comforting.

_ :I’m... doing the best I can.: _

“I can see that,” She said, not unkindly, jingling his collar. “Where is your Witch, dear one?”

_ :I have a person, he’s not a Witch.:  _ She nodded, understanding shining in her old, fond eyes. Dean suddenly wanted to spill it all.  _ :He’s my brother... We had a fight and we’ve been separated for about a week now.: _

She gasped down at him. There was steel behind those old eyes of hers.

“He left you behind?”

_ :It’s a long story... I told him to. I kind of... kept a pretty important secret from him.: _

“That’s no excuse!” She said, drawing herself up. She never once stopped smoothing his fur. “Sweetheart, that’s not right. Bond or no, when you rely on a person for your stability, and they know that, it’s  _ their _ responsibility to take into account your preferences. He knew what would happen if he left you, didn’t he? You told him, right?”

He nodded, quick to jump to his brother’s defense.

_ :- But, I’m doing fine...: _

She snorted, giving him the stink eye. “And I’m Dolly Parton.”

He mentally chuckled, shaking his head but not removing himself from her calming presence. It was the first time in almost a week he felt... vaguely human. She had rosey cheeks, and a floral dress not made up of monochromatics. He still didn’t feel quite right. Almost more left than right, but her presence made him notice it less. 

_ :Looking good Dolly,: _ He told her.

She tapped him gently on his snout. “Hush there. No need to sass me.”

They sat there for a moment longer. His head in her lap. Her agile fingers combing through his fur, scratching his ears, soothing.

“Come home with me.” She told him, as the noise of the world slowly encroached on their part of the world. Someone walking down the path, children on the playground. Dean stiffened. “Not like  **that** . I don’t need a Familiar. I’m a little old for that, dear, but I can give you a place to get your feet underneath you. You can show me what kind of human is hidden beneath all that fur.”

**_You won’t want to say no,_ ** Tanner said in his head. And Dean didn’t give a flying fuck about trying to fight it.

_ :What would that entail?: _ He asked, kicking himself for how hopeful he sounded.

“I’ll provide you with some much needed stability... in exchange you can help me around the house.”

Dean breathed, thinking it over. Mulling it over and over. It wasn’t ideal, but Dean really couldn’t be choosy right now.

_ :Deal.: _

“Wonderful,” She was spry for an old lady as she packed her stuff away. That might have been the Witch in her. “Then let's go.”

If anyone was watching they would see nothing out of place. Just an old lady and her dog, out for a walk.

* * *

Spry wasn’t the only thing the lady was. As soon as they got around to her vehicle, she took a quick glance around and ushered him forward. “You can change if you want. We’ve developed enough of a connection that I should be able to help supplement your needs. I’m enough of a Witch to admit that.”

Dean hesitated for all of a second, double checking the surrounding area, before he shifted.

Paranoia wasn’t something to get rid of in a week.

The little old lady blinked at him, craning her neck to see him better. Thankfully dirt didn’t translate over like wounds did. Dean was as clean as he had been in that Wendy’s a week ago. As a human, he felt comfortable being arrogant, and careful, and... well human. He’d been human for longer than he’d been a familiar, after all. The only thing out of place was his collar which he was quick to unclick and shove in his pocket.

“Hi, my name’s Dean,” he said, with a charming smile as he stuck his hand out. 

With a wolfish smirk more suited for a twenty-year old, she took his hand. “Irene. Sweetheart, you should have told me you were easy on the eyes, it wouldn’t have been much of a decision for me to take you home.”

He blinked and a blush bloomed across his nose. He scrubbed the back of his head.

“Ah, well, didn’t want to give all my secrets away.”

With a fond, amused smile she shook her head. “No, of course not.”

Taking a moment more to look him over, she slapped his arm and ushered him to the truck. “Well, I think that's enough ogling, let's get going, shall we?”

“Sure.”

* * *

Irene’s house was a small farmhouse located on about three acres of property ten minutes outside of town. She kept a chicken house, a barn with a pasture that took up most of her property which housed a cow, a couple goats, a few sheep (including a little lamb), and a number of dogs. The place smelled exactly as a farm should.

Dean blinked as he was swarmed by the dogs, all of them coming to smell him and his other form. None of them scared, or skittish, or frightened in any way like Bobby’s dogs had been. Then again, Bobby had trained his dogs to snarl at anything new and interesting. Crouching down, he came face to face with a german shepard mix, a lab mix, and whatever else the other three medium sized dogs were a mix of. All of them swarmed him to sniff and, for the taller ones, lick him. Tails lashing just like his when he was particularly excited.

“Calipso, Tornado, Epi - back it up now! That’s no way to treat our guest,”

All of the dogs obeyed, even if she only called three of their names and Dean was left to right himself and follow. He felt decidedly uncomfortable, as well as entirely too comfortable. It was a strange limbo.

“They get a little excited, especially when they can smell another dog,” Irene smiled at him as she made her way to her front door. “Were you a dog person before you were bitten?”

“No,” Dean snorted. “I wasn’t much of a pet person.”

“You can see the appeal now, though, can’t you?”

Irene’s eyes were full of knowing, understanding. Dean didn’t have to tell her that she was right. She knew. Much like any eighty-some-year old witch would know anything. Experience. He wondered how many Familiars she had known in her life... if she had had one, herself.

“I should hate them even more now,” Dean admitted as they walked straight from outside into the kitchen. “A german shepard was what bit me, but... I don’t. I guess I just sympathize with them more now.”

“That’s usually what happens, dear,” Irene told him, as she settled her back on the counter and started pulling out cans and her shopping. “Now, any food allergies I should know about?”

Dean smiled at her. “No, ma’am.”

“Any bad habits?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t smoke, I used to drink, but well - “ Dean tensed up. Always hating talking about something he couldn’t do anymore. He waited for the usual questions -

“The fermentation, right?”

Irene was nothing but understanding. She asked a few more questions, just for his comfort. About what he knew, what he was used to, which form her preferred. Those kinds of things. 

“My daughter will be coming over sometime tomorrow, which form would you prefer to be in when she gets here?”

Dean thought about it for a moment. “Is she a Witch?”

“She could have been,” Irene shrugged. “She might sense something off, whichever form you take, but I doubt she’ll know what to do with it. Since she had no interest, I didn’t teach her anything.” Then she smiled. “My Lila on the other hand... well, she’s got her grandmother's spirit at that age. She might corner you and get you to admit what you are.”

Dean tried not to panic. A witch with potential? That wasn’t like a little old lady that could die at any time, any day.

“How old is she?”

“Seven,” Irene patted him on the arm. “Way too young for you, Dean.”

He spluttered and blushed again, but finally told her he’d stay in his dog-form. It was what he knew around Witches, after all. Even one as kind as Irene. Plus he was still recharging.

“Suit yourself. Might want to put back on the collar then.”

Dean did so.

* * *

To Dean’s embarrassment and Irene’s delight, doggie-Dean was filthy. He needed a bath. The old lady was all too prepared to help him out. Which, unfortunately, he needed all the help he could get. Without Sam to help, he would have just had to settle for being sprayed down, but he would still smell. And that, Irene will not stand.

“Honestly,” She gave him a look over those glasses. “You act like I’m putting you in a blender!”

_ :It’s awkward!: _

“Only if you let it be,” Irene shot right back as she set the bath to warm water and let it fill up halfway. 

_ :Will you be alright kneeling?: _ Dean didn’t want the old woman hurting herself. She was already doing a lot for him.

“I bath my grandchildren all the time, Dean,  **and** the dogs,” She said, as she turned off the water and patted the side of the tub. “The only difference here is you have human intelligence inside that animal skin of yours. Now, come one, let's get you cleaned up.”

Even so, it was as awkward and embarrassing for Dean as anything he ever did in his Doggie form was. Still he couldn’t help but like the way it felt to be clean. Then Irene helped him dry off as well as he could, even pulling out the hairdryer for a quicker fix. When all was said and done, he felt like a million bucks. 

“Now, you can either sleep on the couch, or you can sleep with me in my room.” Irene told him as she set to fixing dinner.

Dean’s immediate response was to say that the couch was just fine, but he could smell Irene’s amusement and he knew  _ exactly  _ why she was offering. Ugh. Sneaky Witch. There was a reason he was here, and keeping close enough to create some kind of magical feed-back loop...

_ :... Ugh, I hate feeling like such a creep, but I know being closer to my ‘person’ or Witch will help me charge my battery.: _

“It will.”

_ :I will try not to take up so much of your bed, but I will promise nothing.: _

Irene laughed, the sound boisterous and loud and... pleasant. Dean perked up, happy to make her laugh like that. It fulfilled something within his chest. Made him feel warm and welcome. A little bit of color came back into his life.  A bond, slim and faint and iridescent, formed between them in the small moments as they readied for bed. The towels were a crisp white, and the smell was some mix of detergent and flowers. The dog smell was everywhere. It was silent on the farm, but to Dean that just meant it was a nice background noise. 

It was the most peaceful he’d felt since... since he and dad had hung out at that bar after their fourth to last hunt.

“Were I fifty years younger, Dean,” Irene winked. “You’d be coming for more than just sleep.”

Dean barked a laugh. Feeling entirely too comfortable. 

They sat down to a simple dinner of veggies and sauteed chicken breast. Dean was surprised to find he couldn’t remember a time when he’d sat down and had a home cooked meal. It made sense he couldn’t. They lived on the road and as cheap as they could. Cereal, fast-food, and anything else from a convenience store or gas station.

But at least Dean hadn’t been raised in a barn. After they were finished he cleaned the kitchen. 

Then bedtime. 

Which... was a lot less awkward than Dean had thought it was going to be. He was used to being treated like a pet when he was a dog, and Irene, kindly, did just that. She ignored him for the most part. Went into the bathroom to get on a long sleeping gown, ignored him, until she turned off the light and slid under the covers. Then she gave his head a little pat, smoothed his now clean, dry fur down and settled in to sleep.

She nodded off and Dean was left to observe this witch as she completely trusted him. And it was trust... Nobody just fell asleep as easily as that. Dean had barely counted to three and she was out. It was... it was baffling. Dean watched her sleep for a few minutes, amazed to be this close to another person who knew what he was - and they trusted him.

He wouldn’t have trusted him. 

At the beginning, before he was bitten, any time really. Trust was a limited resource. And he didn’t have much to give. Except.. Wasn’t that how trust worked? To earn it, it first had to be given.

Dean followed her in sleep after she turned over.

* * *

Irene didn’t have a lot for him to do around the house, but he did take care of the animals for her early in the morning as she cooked breakfast. Then, after she had fed him, she had him check over the plumbing, to make sure nothing leaked when winter came.

It was around noon, as he was finishing up and putting away the toolbox in the barn, that he heard a car park in the driveway. Irene had said her daughter was coming. Dean was quick to put on his collar, shift, and shake out his fur. All in time to see a little girl run to the porch.

“Nana!”

_ Ah. The kid. _ Lila was what Irene had called her. 

Her mother followed at a more sedate pace, with purse and a frilly backpack. A fond smile on her lips as Dean came trotting out of the barn. When she noticed a new dog, clean and with a collar, she paused. 

“Well, hey there,” She greeted with a blink as Dean came close enough to sniff at her jeans. A move that got him well acquainted with everything in her life. Single, no male smell on her. She smelled clean, like city, but smokey, so she was from town. A hint of static shocked his nose but he didn’t let it bother him. Magical sensitive.

“Aren’t you a handsome guy?” 

The daughter, Dean had never gotten her name, crouched in front of him. Her hands just as gentle as her mother’s as she scratch behind his ears. There was no magical connection. No zap. So a tingle of magic but not enough - kind of like Sam before he bound Dean. He flopped onto his rump to let her heavenly fingers work his ears and scruff. He felt her pull at his collar, turning the name tag that just had his name on it.

“Dean?” She huffed a laugh. “Much too tame a name for Mom to come up with. Where’d you come from?”

Dean heard the child before he saw her.

“Doggie!” Lila yelped as she rushed from inside, fast as lightning. 

“Be nice to Dean now,” Her mother told her, which made Lila pout, but not turn back. She walked over to Dean, crouched down and held her hand out as if she was a professional and this was all business. It... well it melted Dean’s heart all over the place into a gooey pile of goop. He stepped into her and sniffed her face, her neck, anywhere he could reach.

She giggled uproariously as she hugged him. “That tickles Dean!”

Irene spoke then, startling Dean because he hadn’t been paying attention past his nose and Lila’s wandering hands. 

“I see you’ve met Dean,”

“Another dog, really Mother?”

“Oh hush, Barbara,” Irene told her daughter. Now Dean had a name. The grandmother was quick to call to her grandchild. “You better be playing nice with him, young lady! Dean’s a very special dog.” 

Lila’s hands were not harsh in the first place, but she calmed down her strokes so they were longer and she pulled back.  “Why’s he special?”

Barbra physically stiffened as Irene smiled that mysterious smile that some old ladies could pull off. 

_ Where was she going with this? _

“He can understand you, of course.”

Barbara relaxed then and Lila laughed. It confused Dean.  _ What was he missing?  _

“You say that about all your dogs,”

“It’s doubly true for Dean,” Irene claimed, before she called for him. “Come here, Dean.”

_ :I hope you’re not expecting me to play fetch,: _ Dean told her as he came to her, tail and head held high. : _ That’s where I draw the line.:  _ He hadn’t forgiven Sam... who he was now dutifully trying to push to the back of his mind.

Irene rolled her eyes. “Come now, not fetch, how about shaking hands though?”

Dean allowed that, and stuck his paw forward into her awaiting hand. She gave it one good shake, before she scratched behind his ear in reward. Barbara was the one who interrupted their moment.

“Come on Lila, let's go inside. Why don’t you show Nana what you did in school?”

Lila was quick to grab up her abandoned backpack and head into the kitchen, to the table to start unloading her treasure. As she did, Barbra looked Dean over, as if weighing him out in her mind. Irene had said that she wasn’t a Witch... but did that mean she didn’t know about Familiars?

“What’s the real deal with him, Mom?” She asked, watching him as she came closer to the porch. “Really?”

“He’s lost,” Irene told her daughter, her hand not straying from Dean’s scruff. “His... person left him behind. I’m just watching him until the idiot realizes what an ass they’re being.”

Barbara understood though.

“Wait - he’s...” She looked him over again, as if seeing him for the first time. “He’s a familiar?”

_ Huh, so she did know about his kind _ . He wondered if Irene had tried to teach her daughter, if she had failed and been unable to do any magic. With all the training, she could understand but never be part of that world. It was cruel, and what Dean knew of Irene, that didn’t seem like something she would have done.

“I did tell you they exist,” Irene told her, serenely as she fixed Dean’s collar. “It’s not my fault we live in the middle of nowhere, where winning the lottery would be far sight easier than meeting a Familiar.”

_ :Really? _ : Dean questioned, mouth closing as he looked up at her. Done with the ruse in front of the mother at the very least.

“Yes, Dean. Familiars are rare on a  _ good _ day.”

He cocked his head thinking.

_ :Well the one who bit me didn’t stick around.: _

Irene’s eyes softened. “That’s not your fault honey. Just because people leave you doesn’t mean you’re not worth it.”

Barbara had been watching the entire time. She was tense. Almost as if she didn’t believe, but she had been the one to bring it up. Finally, when she spoke it didn’t shock Dean, “If you’re a familiar, then why don’t you turn into your human form?”

“Barbara!” Irene rebuked sharply. 

“I’m just saying!” Barbara said, crossing her arms. She smelled smug.

_ :Whoah, hold the phone. Why’d you get mad?:  _ Dean asked, confused. 

“She knows better. It’s rude to ask.”

_ :I don’t mind. Not many... not many people know about me. Unless you don’t want me to show?: _

“No, Dean, it’s fine, honey.” She turned to Barbara. “Now, I know this is your first time seeing a Familiar, so no being rude. I didn’t raise you that way.”

_ First time _ ? So then... there was a good chance that Barbara was just parroting things. She probably thought Irene was senile. Which... well that was rude. Irene was sharper than most humans Dean knew. He felt defensive of her, suddenly. It came on like any of his instincts did. Sudden but powerful.

“Sure, mom,” Barbara said, but crossed her arms defensively and stared at Dean as if willing him to shift. He hesitated. “Well?”

One second a dog, the next a man, Dean leaned against the side of the house. 

“No need to get snippy.”

Dean was also right. 

Barbara fell back on her ass, shocked, as Dean watched her heave a huge breath, hold it, and stare at him. Like he’d just appeared out of thin air. Which, considering, was entirely too possible. The collar around his neck jiggled and he consider removing it, but decided against it.

Barbara had still not said a word.

“So,” He voiced towards Irene. “Familiars are rare?”

Irene was more than amused. He could hear it in her voice. “There is a reason most Witches would cut off their left arm to be chosen by a Familiar. The chances are only slightly better than winning the lottery, but it also has to do with knowing a Familiar couple and finding an unbonded kid or a bitten human. There is travel to think about as well. Lots of things.”

“You - you’re really a Familiar.” Barbara finally breathed in a whisper as her arms shook from holding her body up at such an awkward angle. 

“I am.” Dean confirmed, feeling uneasy. Trusting Irene was one thing, the daughter was another.

“Holy shit... he’s really a Familiar.”

Irene frowned at her. “Watch the language, my grand-daughter better not learn those words.”

“All those stories were... were true?” Barbara demanded, wide eyed. 

Irene looked endlessly amused.

“Mom! I never really believed you.”

“I know, honey,” Irene said, serenely. “I could tell.”

Dean frowned again, this time fully facing Irene. “You never showed them magic?”

“Dean, honey, why would I flaunt that I have magic in front of those that do not?” Irene asked. “It would have been cruel. No. I only told stories of things I did when I was younger. If they believed, all the more power to them.”

Dean got that. He cocked his head. “Did you know any Familiars?”

“Of course,” Irene chuckled. “A couple. A sparrow. Two dogs. A cat.”

_ A sparrow. Ugh _ . Dean couldn’t imagine it. Flying in a plane was awful, but on your own? With wings? It made him feel green around the gills.

“Wait - then - then was that story about the witch who cured the scarlet fever in chicago you?”

Dean blinked as Irene, still grandmotherly and impish, nodded.

“Whoah, how’d you do that?” Dean asked, honestly curious. It wasn’t often he found a Witch who didn’t deal in blood magic. Mostly because he hunted them down and killed them. Yet, being one of the very rare things that Witches covet made him uniquely qualified to get answers.

“I still have my old spellbook if you want to look through it Barbara, I outlined it all in there. You too, Dean.”

“NANA! MOMMA!” Lila shouted from inside the house. “Come on!”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Barbara said, pointing a finger at both of them. She left them on the porch to enter the house.

Dean snorted. “Well, that went... well.”

“Sweetheart, go on and change back into your better self,” Irene told him, patting his shoulder. “We’ve got about eight hours to kill before Lila goes to sleep.”

Dean dutifully obeyed. His furry butt was a little frizzled and he shook himself off before following Irene inside, where she held the door politely for him.

* * *

Lila was a child and Dean’s inner dog loved kids. Some dogs were work dogs. Some dogs were service dogs. Some dogs were lap dogs. Dean had a feeling his dog was a mix of all of them. It was a good thing, too, because Lila loved Dean. Like. Alot. She dragged him, as gently as any seven year old could, by his collar, every which way. To a tea party. To being dressed up like a ‘clown-dog’. To outside where she tried to feed him mudpies, made of literal mud. It was like being back with Sam when he was a kid. Except he was on four legs, Lila didn’t listen to a  _ thing _ he said, and he was a dog.

“What do you think of our current political party, Senator Dean?” Lila asked, used a fork as a microphone.

Dean barked a couple times.  _ :Well, there’s a lot to be said for not fucking over the world. Definitely no Demons. But... you know, Vampires might not be so bad... Who the hell is even our president right now?: _

Dean honestly didn't know. Sam would.

“You’re right, Senator Dean, we do need more ice cream shops. You always know just what to say!”

_ :Ice cream? Pretty sure dogs are lactose intolerant, kid.: _

Irene snorted from her place on the couch.

After her skit of ‘Senator Dean’ Lila left Dean alone for a moment, going into the next room to get a paper plate to cut up to make ‘lion ears’, so Dean asked Irene, : _ Speaking of - why can’t she talk to me or hear me? You said she was a Witch. But I haven’t felt that on her...: _

“She’s still too young. You have to reach puberty before you can do magic or bond with a familiar, Dean.”

_ :Oh.: _

“What did he ask?” Barbara demanded, unable to hear what they were saying. She was like Sam, before he had collared Dean. On her own wavelength.  As Irene explained, Lila came back with her paper plate, that she had already punched a hole in. Dean was impressed.

A little less impressed as she made the hole wider and then shoved his face through it.

“Honey... what are you doing?” Barbara asked, trying not to laugh at Dean’s expression.

“I’m making Dean into a space station.”

“... Why?”

“Because I can?”

_ :Good enough for me,: _ Dean said with a snort as he picked up a rocketship from all the toys and ran off. Lila laughing and running after him. The grown-up talk was over then.

* * *

After dinner and another bout of ‘torture’ Lila was finally put to sleep in the guest bedroom. Dean had worn her out and Barbara thanked him for that. At around eight Irene made Dean a sandwich and coaxed him back to his human form. Seeing no need to remove his collar, he sat at the table and enjoyed his dinner. 

“I will never get used to that,” Barbara said, sipping her coffee as she watched Dean.

Dean finished chewing before responding. “Believe me, neither have I,” 

“I can’t believe this is all real.” Barbara whispered to herself. “I mean, you used to always tell us stories. But... I thought you just were really creative! I never would have guessed that you could actually...”

Irene chuckled next to her. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”

Dean raised a brow. Not what he would call it, but for Witches... well, who knew? Who knew what a regular old day for Irene was? Maybe she did sacrifices in the backyard, next to the fire pit. He thought not, but... well he’d been wrong before.

Like she was reading his mind she turned to him.

“I never did ask what you do,” Irene said as she settled into the chair across from Dean. “Or  _ did _ , depending on your circumstance.”

Dean gulped down the rest of his sandwich before taking a gulp of water. “I, uh, don’t know if I should tell you...”

“Oh how bad could it be?” Irene chuckled, swatting at him playfully. 

Dean smiled. Which quickly froze at what she jokingly said next.  “It’s not like you’re a  _ Hunter _ .”

Huh. Well.

Dean was silent, eyebrow quirked. Willing her to guess correctly. Irene was a smart broad. Quick like silver, too. Her smile slowly fell from her face. They stared at each other for a long moment. Barbara looking between them. Nobody saying a word.

“... you were a Hunter.” She stated, and then, like that she  **knew** him. 

Hunters were not a variety bunch. They were killers. Trained killers. Irene knew this. Years of life and experience taught her all she needed to know, to know him. And she did. 

“I  **am** a Hunter.” He corrected, looking away.

“A Familiar... bit a Hunter...” Irene said, dazed. “That has got to be the stupidest thing a Familiar has ever done.”

Dean flinched. “Yeah, that’s what my dad implied when I told him.”

Irene’s heart skipped a beat. A first. Dean cocked his head as he watched her, wearily now. It was hard to imagine her as dangerous, but she was an old Witch. She had power and experience on her side. Still, Dean felt safe here. Her taste-smell changed only slightly, nothing verging on kind of dangerous. Even as she stared at him in horror.

**_“Your whole family are Hunters?”_ **

Irene was clutching her cup tighter. Dean tried to find the words to answer that.

Barbara was looking between them. “Am I missing something? What’s a Hunter? Like... Like you hunt for deer or what?”

Irene and Dean ignored her.

“I didn’t think it was possible for a Hunter to turn into a Familiar...” Irene whispered. “There’s gotta be something inside you that can be changed. Moldable. Hunters are the most unchanging, immovable bunch of people I’ve ever met... Everyone always said it’s - it’s impossible.”

Dean chuckled sardonically. She wasn’t wrong about Hunters being completely unable to change their views - but Dean had been  _ raised _ a Hunter. Not made, like most were. He didn’t have some awful tragedy that kept him going. He had been four when his mother had died, for fucks sake. That wasn’t enough to keep fanning the flame of revenge. It was j _ ust enough _ to keep him on the right path, though, even with his father gone. Add Sam as his person, and things just got dicey.

“Well, I’m not impossible, Irene. I’m here. In the flesh. Improbably, sure, but not impossible.”

“Mom?” Barbara asked again.

The familiar didn’t want to butt in and just go announcing information, especially something as sensitive as this. So he bowed his head to Irene. She startled at that, as if expecting Dean to change now that she knew he was a Hunter. As if expecting his attitude to change. The old lady was lost in her own thoughts. Her heartbeat back to normal. Her scent as unchanging as the woods. Just as comforting. Which was... weird. Dean was reliant on her to be any kind of semblance of human, and she knew that.

“You’re brother. You said your brother is the one who bound you,” Irene whispered. “Your family is  _ sensitive _ and you ended up as Hunters?”

“Sam didn’t bind me,” Dean made sure to remind her. His hand came up to touch the collar. “I am... I am currently  _ unbound _ . He is just my  **person** .”

Irene’s eyes flickered to his throat.

“But - the collar - “

Dean interrupted.

“We were given the spell by some witches in Indiana. Sam apparently had enough mojo to connect us. We were... a little desperate.” Flushing he admitted, fingers unconsciously petting his collar around his throat. “I would have done just about anything to stop shifting without clothes.”

“Mom!” Barbara interrupted. “ _ What _ is a Hunter?”

Both of them were silent. Neither giving an inch. Irene yielded first. Leaning back, sipping at her mug and smacking her lips.

“You can tell her, Dean,” She raised her mug at him, in directive. “I am curious to see how you describe yourselves.”

Dean was suddenly nervous. He’d never had to explain himself to a bunch of Witches before. He took a deep breath. 

“A Hunter is someone who hunts creatures who are unnatural,” He couldn’t stop fiddling with his collar. “Supernatural to be precise. Spirits. Werewolves. Vampires. Demons. Wendigo. You name it, I’ve hunted it. Any number of creatures - ”

“ - Don’t forget Witches - ”

“ _ Occasionally _ Witches,” Dean stressed. “We don’t go after the innocent. Only those who have killed and who will kill again. My brother and I follow blood trails to gruesome crime scenes and we get justice for those that need it. Often enough, it's at the expense of the creatures lives. A lot more often, it’s just a ghost that’s latching onto the world and needing a good cleansing.”

Barbara was pale, her mouth had fallen open. Irene was quick to intervene for her daughter’s sake.

“You mentioned a father...?”

Dean nodded, looking away.

“Dad was killed by a demon a couple months back.”

“ **Demons** ?” Irene hissed, leaning forward. “What were you doing messing around with  _ demons _ ?”

Now there was one reaction he could appreciate.

“It wasn’t much of a choice on our part... We were trying to get justice for my mother...” His lips quirked in a relatively wry smile. “Unfortunately, for us Winchesters, trouble usually finds us. Sometimes it’s werewolves. Sometimes it’s vampires. This time it was demons.”

Irene’s mouth now completely flopped open. She stood far quicker than her age would suggest as she just stared, unseeing at him, over him, away. It took her a second, or two, or three, but she finally sat back down. Looking at Dean in a new light. Her heart beating hard, but not in fear - in shock. Her scent was twisting around a rather worrying mix of  _ shockTerrorUnderstanding _ .

“I would never have guessed you were a Winchester you’re so...”

“Reasonable? Easy to talk to? Willing to change?” He guessed, filling in the blanks of how his father must have been to others.

Irene nodded. The words as good as any. His father had a reputation. With them at his back, he’d built a name for all of them. A duo of Hunters was the usual. Most often than not, they Hunted alone. But a trio? The Winchesters were unheard of. Yet everyone had heard of them. For every Hunter knew them, knew their reputation. That their reputation, their father’s reputation had been so widespread that even Witches knew of it...

He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. 

John had left them a mess is what he had left them. A legacy filled with blood and death and destruction.

Dean wasn’t going to stop, either. This was all he knew. A legacy was all he had some days.

Barbara looked like she was trying to remember something. “You told me, in college, to stay away from Winchesters. Didn’t you?”

Irene nodded.

“I did.”

“Was... was Dean what you were warning me about?”

“... Yes... and no,,” Dean answered for Irene. Raising his own eyes to meet Barbaras. “She was warning you from my  _ father _ .”

“He was that... awful, huh?”

“He... he had his issues,” Dean always hated talking bad about his father, especially since he had died. “He was as good a father as he could be, considering the circumstances. When my mother was killed by demons, our house burned down, he vowed he would find the demon who did it and make them pay... We finally found him a few months ago. The Yellow Eyed Demon. Unfortunately, two humans and a familiar were no match against a couple hundred year old demon.”

He didn’t mention the other Hunters. He didn’t mention the other Demons. He didn’t mention the colt. He didn’t mention that the demons came specifically for Sam.

“You went toe to toe with a demon?” Irene demanded, pale. 

“Got our asses handed to us, too.” Dean confirmed. 

“... Did you ever try to leave the life behind?”

“Me? No. Sam did, though,” Dean smiled proud. Sad. “He got a full ride to Harvard...”

Irene was quick to jump on his silence. “... but he didn’t take it.”

“Oh, no, he took it. Ran off for a couple of years,” Dean guiltily crossed his arms, hugging himself. “Finished two years, and then I came back around.” 

Sometimes Dean hated himself for that. 

How would their lives have changed had he not had a moment of weakness?

“I knew he was happy, being normal, going to college, trying for the whole American ideal... but I needed his help. Our father was missing, I hadn’t heard from him in almost a week...” He made sure to impress on them how ridiculous that was, seeing as they just stared at him. “That was unheard of. To be on radio silence for a week? I knew Hunters who were declared dead for  _ much  _ less.”

“And he... he what? Just decided to go back to the life?” Barbara asked.

Dean shook his head. “Oh no. He was out. For good. That was the thing... that demon who killed our mom? He came back and killed Sam’s girlfriend,” Dean snorted. Tired. So very tired. “I never realized how much Sammy was like our father until he was on the warpath. It was...” Dean grimaced. “It was like seeing double,”

The room was silent then.

“You really have gotten the short end of the stick, haven’t you, Dean?” Irene asked, back to her grandmotherly self. Pity shining in her eyes. “Mother gone, Dad mia, brother off to college where you can’t follow. Then you get bit by a Familiar. You get turned into one of the things you hunt...” 

Dean shrugged looking away, suddenly exhausted. He had dealt with what life had thrown him. Curve ball after fastball after strike after strike. It was tiring. It almost made him wonder if the reason he was taking his sudden exile so well because he was getting the rest he needed. He hadn’t been joking about wanting a vacation.

“It happens.”

“I’m still sorry, Dean.”

Dean blinked back the tears, quickly, coughing to cover up his weakness.

“I’m fine. I’m alive, aren’t I?” And he smiled. But it was like Irene could see right through him.

Irene reached out and grabbed his hand. Comfortingly smothered his hand with her own. There was something about touch that calmed the animal inside, calmed Dean.

“Just because you’re alive, doesn’t mean it’s not hard, Dean,” She said. “You’re experiences don’t define you. You can be your own person, alright?”

Dean froze. Staring at her. He was feeling vulnerable. So very vulnerable. And yet, not nearly as threatened as he should be. 

“I’m pretty old and set in my ways, Irene,” Dean said, with a quirky smile. “I am who I am.”

Irene didn’t buy it.

“You just told me you were less than a year old,” she said. “The world is open to whatever you want Dean.”

* * *

Even with everything they had discussed, everything that had been revealed, to the ire of Barbara, Dean still slept at the end of Irene’s bed. He’d spent almost five hours as a human and wasn’t sure what the connection between Sam would have provided him. He promised himself he would try and call Sam tomorrow.

Lila and Barbara were set to leave after breakfast, staying the night for convenience, so he wouldn’t have to worry about those two at least.

* * *

“ **_This is Sam. You know what to do._ ** ”

**BEEP**

Dean shut his phone rather than leave a message. It was the second time he had gotten voicemail. Sam knew his number and was just being a dick. He promised himself the next time he called he would leave a message. It went against code to leave it the first or the second time, but third was fine.

With a sigh, he leaned against the bar. One of the goats came over and bleated at him, which made him smack the animal's head lightly away. He was a nibbler. That only called the rest of the animals over, wondering if some kind of food-exchange had happened. Soon Dean was surrounded.

Chuckling to himself, he pushed them all away. 

There was only one animal left.

“Baaa!” The little lamb bleated at him. Innocent eyes staring at him. It even head-butted him. Crouching, the lamb wasn’t deterred the tiniest bit and just settled between his legs. It got in his face, and bleated all the  louder.

Dean flipped open his phone and called Sam back.

It went straight to voicemail and as soon as the BEEP echoed across the line - Dean started talking.

“I know it was shitty, me keeping Dad’s last words a secret, but what was I supposed to do, Sam?” The lamb didn’t bleat again, just stared with those big eyes at him. “In case you care, I am fine. I’m with this old lady. She’s a spitfire. Found me in some park. She’s a witch. A nice one.  I’m helping around her house and she’s letting me hang out. There’s this lamb, and it won’t stop following me around and yelling at me and - ” Dean knew he was just skirting the issue. “And I don’t know, Sam. There’s a lot of things I don’t know. A lot more than usual, anyway.”

He took a breath.

“Just give me a call when you’re ready to meet back up.”

Then he shut the phone.

Which set the lamb off. He smiled at the little guy and his lungs, lifted his hand and scratched behind his ears. Knowing how good it felt, he didn’t stop until the little guy started head-butting him over and over. Taking a deep breath, he set to work tidying up the barn. His small entourage following.

* * *

Irene and Dean end up disagreeing about a lot of things. Surprisingly, it's not about the supernatural things.

“I can’t believe you don’t have any ketchup,” Dean said, for about the twentieth time. Irene swatted him with a newspaper.

“Hush.”

“I’m just saying,” Dean smiled into his dark, dark coffee, even as Irene kept pushing a cup of milk and a pot of sugar his way.

And not even to get into things that really got both of them going. Like movies (both of them absolutely unable to agree on one to watch), any kind of politics, the phase of the moon, and most recently - mayonnaise, mustard, and ketchup all things which Irene hated. Dean was beginning to think she really  **was** evil.

“Agree to disagree, dear,” Irene said, as she rose to go to the couch to begin her newest knitting project. Dean didn’t know enough about knitting to even try and have a conversation about it. Though he was beginning to understand there were not a lot of conversations to have about the task. It was like cleaning a gun. Something to keep the hands busy.

Dean was a dog in a few moments and then he seated himself next to her on the couch. She fondly scratched behind his ears, ruffling his fur, before settling in to work.

Sitting, doing nothing; that was usually one thing they could completely agree on.

* * *

Even though Irene wasn’t Sam, Dean never felt the itching need to be dog longer than human. Granted he rarely was human most days. It just felt... strange. And weird. He spent maybe four hours, at most. Irene really didn’t have much around her house for him to do. Mostly winterization.

It was about a week into his stay with Irene that he finally got word about Sam.

He was up to about eleven voicemail messages that he had left his brother, and had called the Roadhouse every day to get an update on if Ellen had heard anything from Sam, because loath as Dean was to admit to himself: he wasn’t his brothers first call. Not right now. Not when he was so pissed.

The worst part, Dean had to admit while dialing Ellen’s number, was that before Stanford, before Sam running away to college - he knew he would just need to give his brother a little bit of space and then go and find him. Drag him back, sit him down, and get him to spill his guts. But this wasn’t teenage Sam. This wasn’t the Sam that Dean knew front and back. This was the Sam his brother was now.

And he was still learning how he worked.

“Roadhouse.” 

“Hey Ellen. Anything new?,” Dean cut right to the chase, smiling at the antics of the dogs under his feet as he walked off to the other side of the pasture. 

“Dean,” Her voice warmed by degrees. “Good to hear from you. Been almost twenty four hours, had me worried there. But... Sorry, I got nothing.”

_ Worth a try _ , Dean mused to himself. A shot in the dark, but really it was the only thing he had.

“Hmm, anything interesting happening on your end?” Dean asked, a little desperate for that hunter connection.

“I’ve got a few cases if you need something...?” She left the words hanging.

This was how she always offered cases to them. Dangled the carrot, waited for them to bite, then she got them to spill about where they were holed up and what case was closest, and by the time you got off the phone you realized you had just told someone your location, and trusted they weren’t going to screw you over. Ellen was way more intelligent than a lot of the Hunting community gave her credit for.

“I’m taking a break.” Dean told her, then with a chuckle that he didn’t really feel he added. “I mean, Sam gets a break, why can’t I?”

“Well good for you, Dean,” Ellen said it like she really meant it. And that was the thing with the woman. Dean was pretty sure she really did. He wondered what that would have felt like, knowing that about someone growing up. Knowing they had your back, knowing they were there to listen and not judge.

Dean quickly shut down that line of thought and bid Ellen goodbye and to remind her to call him the second she heard from Sam.

Doing his ‘chores’ as Irene liked to call them, Dean settled into the rhythm of feeding her animals, mucking the parts of the stable that needed it, and re-organizing the bales of hay for better grabbing. He wasn’t going to be here forever, after all. This was a pit stop on his road and the least he could do was leave it better than when he had arrived. Though that wasn’t saying much, her stable had been a mess.

It wasn’t an hour later that he got a call from Ellen. After so soon hanging up with her, he knew something must have happened. He answered on the first ring. 

She didn’t even wait for him to say ‘hello’.

“Sam was just here.”

Dean feels his veins turn to ice and his heart speed up. Juxtaposition to that, he feels faint. Logistics are running through his head. How fast he can get somewhere without a car. How fast he can find a car off of Irene’s property to hot-wire. He doesn’t even know the direction Sam is in, but he knows he’ll be there by this time tomorrow. Come hell or high water.

Still, the first words out of his mouth are:

“How’d he look?”

“He looked fine.” Ellen assured him. “I told him you’d been calling...”

He could read between the line.

“Where’s he going?”

“He made me promise not to tell you where,” Ellen said, but there was something in his voice. Just an inkling of ‘not strength’.

“Come on, Ellen, please. Something bad could be going on here,” 

It was a constant worry. Dean felt responsible for Sam. Always had. Always would. It wasn’t about to change just because Sam happened to have a measure of control over his life in being complacently-controlling his shifting ability. Sam was his younger brother and that meant his responsibility. 

“Now Dean, they say you can't protect your loved ones forever,” 

Dean held his breath. Ellen wouldn’t have just called to tell him about Sam, would she? Dangle the knowledge that Sam was near the Roadhouse and so far away from him. It seemed too cruel a thing she wouldn’t do. Ellen had Jo, after all, she knew all about the Hunter lifestyle and how you couldn’t control the people you loved. 

Luckily, he was right. 

“Well, I say screw that,” Dean heaved a sigh of relief. “What else is family for?” 

He said, sincerely. “Thank you Ellen.”

Dean said it and he meant it.

“He's in Lafayette, Indiana.” 

Dean was already turning from the barn to tell Irene what was happening, that he was leaving, and... well, whatever else he had to tell her.

* * *

“Indiana, huh,” Irene said, when he told her he had a lead on his brother, and even if Sam hadn’t exactly asked for him - he was still going. “That’s a long time in a car. A whole day in fact. Less time if you took a plane,”

Dean made a face before he rolled his eyes. “Not even something to joke about, ma’am,”

He’d told Irene all about his hate of airplanes the second day he’d spent with her. He told her a lot of things about himself, actually. She was just so quiet, and as Dog Dean hadn’t had a good conversation in ages. Dean had no radio or cassette tapes of his own, so his voice had to fill in the blank air around them. So. He talked. About Sam. About his family. About his car. About his lifestyle. About how being a Familiar had turned his world upside down and then stomped on it. About his first kill. About how he just wanted to make his father proud, and he never was, even on his deathbed. About the first time Sammy walked, and remember that  **that** , right there, was the moment Dean would give his life for his brother. He told her about a few of his hunts. A few of his conquests, in bed and out. And Irene had just sat and listened, retained it all, too.

“I gotta go, Irene, you’ve been too good to me,” Dean shook his head, ruefully. “But, my brother needs me, even if he doesn’t know it.”

Irene smiled at him, patting his hand, as she got up from the table where he’d sat her down to talk. “Alright, dear.”

“Thanks Irene.”

“At least let me get you set up at the bus station,”

Dean was embarrassed at how long it took to realize she was hobbling around her house getting her purse and her coat because she was planning to drive him where he needed to be. Drive him to his starting point in any direction away from her. 

“I couldn’t ask that of you,” Dean protested. “I’m fine. I’ve got money.”

Though he had to admit, the bus had not even crossed his mind. Hot-wiring and stealing was second-nature to him. Sam was always the one to take the bus if the situation wasn’t dire. But Dean had been taught that time was money, and he already didn’t have a job. Every second counted, don’t leave a trail. Words of wisdom from his father.

“Nonsense,” Irene told him, firmly. “I’m taking you to the bus station. Then, I’m going to wait with you until it gets there. You’re gonna need all the recharge you can get, Dean.”

The familiar deflated. She was right, of course. Dean still wasn’t sure of the amount of time he could stay human for. He was pretty sure he could handle a day, but honestly... it had been a while. The skin already felt too tight around his bones, itchy in a way that wasn’t indicative of the need to shift, but also just down right uncomfortable. The color in the world had come back with Irene in his life, but he knew it wouldn’t take long for that to go.

Sam was worth it, though.

* * *

Saying goodbye to the little old witch was a lot harder than Dean thought it was going to be.

He got a ticket for the noon bus, with the money in hand to buy another when he got to Iowa. From there, Lafayette Indiana. But it wasn’t for another twenty minutes that the bus was going to leave, and that left him with time for a goodbye for Irene.

“You know,” Dean told her as they sat on a bunch in the station. “I don’t know where to begin thanking you. Taking a chance to talk to me, giving me a place to sleep... being my surrogate-person,”

Irene gave him one of her ‘you’re-cute-when-your-dumb’ looks. “It was nothing, Dean,”

Dean frowned at her.

“But it wasn’t nothing,” He tried to impress on her, firmly, that what she had done -  **that** had gone above and beyond anything Dean thought someone would be willing to do for a stranger, let alone a familiar, with no strings attached. Irene never asked for anything except yard work, and Dean knew she could have asked for a lot more.

She was old, being bound to her for a decade or whatever was left of her life wouldn’t have been a hardship. And Dean, in his weakened state when she had found him, would have agreed to such a simple agreement for the stability of humanity again. He was less human at that point, more Familiar; still Dean the Hunter, but desperate. Desperate people do desperate things. He’d seen it before and knew he wouldn’t be excluded. Looking back, he knew that now.

Irene just patted his hand. “I know, sweetheart,”

“Irene - “

“Dean,” Irene huffed, moving her hand from his hand to his cheek. “ _ I know _ .”

Irene was one for few words, but her actions shouted.

Dean deflated. They sat and stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, before Dean leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. She’d started this habit, and Dean wasn’t surprised he’d allowed it, then further sought it out, and then started to initiate it. He was warmer, she was slightly chilled. Neither minded each other’s temperature. Dean hadn’t felt so connected to another since Sam, and it was all thanks to this little old lady with a heart of gold.

Old-Dean, Hunter Dean wouldn’t have seen the woman for what she was. Not a human. Not a good person, but a Witch. And Old-Dean would have had no problem ganking an old lady. He would have seen the surface and judged and been wrong. He wouldn’t have even had trouble sleeping.

But Dean wasn’t Old-Dean. No. 

Dean was a familiar.

“Thank you.” He told her one last time.

Before he got on the bus, he made sure to leave her with his phone number, and Bobby’s, and Sam’s, and Ellen’s. She was amused, but Dean also could smell that she was touched at the gesture. Dean had told her about each of those people. Had told her what they meant to him. Had told her how hard it was to trust anyone.

She understood that this was more than an olive-branch, this was giving away a piece of his heart. 

“Don’t be a stranger, now,” She told Dean as she gave him one final, solid hug. “You come visit, alright?”

“When I’m around,” Dean promised.

“You better. And call, yes?”

“I’ll call,” He promised.

She gave him one final squeeze and then they parted ways and Dean was alone again.

At least this time, he didn’t feel so lonely. He was also headed towards civilization, towards Sam. He had direction. 

* * *

Two busses later, nearly twenty-six hours, Dean wasn’t feeling his human skin anymore. Which... well it was awkward to consider. His skin now officially itched. The bad  **need-itch** that filled him when he needed to be a Familiar,  _ like now _ . It was such a slow build, too. Not a switch, but a gradient light like he’d seen in fancy homes. Being able to distinguish colors had disappeared a long time ago.

As soon as he left the bus he found a dark alley. Taking only a moment to clip on his collar, Dean was back to canine form. After a luxurious stretch he felt a ton better. Shoulders less tense, skin a whole lot less itchy, and just generally better.

Dean sniffed deeply. 

The smells of Indiana bounced back and forth between dirty, earthy smells and city smells. Lafayette was that weird combination of both. Surrounded by corn, soy, and other big crop vegetables even in the farthest part of the city it smelled earthy. Like the city couldn’t escape the agriculture surrounding it.

Still, finding his car was the easiest thing he’d done since saying he’d go home with Irene. His baby was parked at some motel parking lot off a main-road. Three of the ‘E’s in Bethels Bed and Breakfast flashed and flickered unevenly. With his car, Sam was also present. Not just his scent, but  **him** .

Dean didn’t even have to stretch his ears to hear Sam.

“Ava, just listen, alright? This could have answers,”

Something settled in Dean’s chest. Maybe it was proximity. Maybe it was Sam’s smell. Maybe it was his voice. Maybe it was all of the above. Dean didn’t know, Dean didn’t  _ care  _ \- it just finally felt right. Like all the pieces were back in his chest. God, if this was how it felt to come back within range of Sam, he couldn’t imagine actually stepping in his orbit. He sat outside the motel, in his doggie-floppy-eared-glory as he listened to Sam and tried to gauge his mindset.

Unfortunately, that happiness was short lived as his ears picked up on what was happening in the motel room.

**_“What else does the yellow-eyed man say?”_ **

Dean’s confused now. That’s not Sam’s voice. That’s the not the girl's voice that was with Sam. No, it had a kind of tinny, reverberating echo that Dean couldn’t place. Like it was on the tv.

Cocking his head he tried to guess. Tv? Radio? Recording?

Another voice spoke, same echo, but a different tone and sounded... scared, worn?

**_“He has plans for me. He says there's a war coming. That people like me... we're going to be the soldiers. Everything's about to change.”_ **

People like... aw, fuck. People like him. Like Sam. And Sam is interested in him, which means he’s like Sam. Dean’s mind races a hundred miles a minute and he is froze as he listens even harder, focusing solely on Sam, on the girl with him, and the recording that had stuttered to a stop.

The girl whimpered. 

_ “He’s.... he’s not talking about us... right?” _

Silence.

_ “Right Sam?” _

His brother sighs, a huge gust of air from his freakish moose lungs and Dean’s still stupidly happy he’s alive and well.

_ “I think he is,” _

Well. That’s not good. The yellow-eyed demon was building an army? An army of super-powered adults that he had somehow had a hand in making them as babies?

The girl continued, her voice higher and more strangled and tight.  _ “But how can we turn into...  _ **_that_ ** _?” _

Dean can't see the frown on his brother’s face, but he knew it was there.

_ “I don’t know.” _

It’s at that moment, so focused as he is, someone steps beside him. Dean hadn’t noticed the footsteps behind him until it’s too late. So focused on Sam, on Sam’s heartbeat, on the girl and on the conversation that he had successfully blocked out the world outside himself. Impressive it would be on any other day, it was apparently a lapse that was going to cost him.

Not thinking anything of it, Dean turned his head to look at who had stopped next to him and promptly froze.

The smell came next, but by that point he had a good look at the man's face.

Gordon. 

He smelled of blood and death, and sweat and cigarettes and bar and - 

“Hello, Dean,” The man says, and Dean’s terrified, so terrified he’s stuck in petrified stoney statuesque.

Gordon knew. 

He knew about Dean being a Dog. Knew about him being a Familiar. You don’t just go around and look at random dogs on the street and correctly guess their  _ human name _ . The man who had killed his own sister for being a Vampire, knew that he turned into a dog at the drop of a hat.

_ Fuck _ . Dean thinks. Before he can blink or try and run Gordon is reaching down and has a hand on his collar and Dean’s leaning away, ready to run for it, towards Sam and the motel room, God anywhere, when the man’s other hand comes over and Dean sees the needle and panics - 

Dean yelps as loud as he can, even as the needle seems to prickle like a bug bite. Then he howls and snarls, knowing he only has a few seconds, a half a minute, to get Sam’s attention. He forgets, after being away from Sam for so long, that talking to Sam through their bond should work. It’s not his fault he forgot, the disuse and the rustiness of that particular ability had not been something to practice without Sam.

_ “What was that?”  _ The girl demanded in the motel room.

Sam’s heartbeat had picked up, and Dean heard crashing and a chair being pushed in. 

: _ Yes _ !: He thought, triumphantly, feeling a tingling in his paws and tail.

_ “Fuck. Dean?” _

Hopeful, Dean sucks in a breath to bark and howl again, but Gordon is having none of that. Now that he’s gotten whatever drug was in that needle into Dean, they both know it’s only a matter of time before Dean succumbs. Which is why Gordon grabs him bodily, muzzles him easily with one big meaty hand, and pulls them behind a car. Dean wildly thrashed, and he knew he couldn’t keep it up for long. If Sam doesn’t look any farther than on his side of the street Dean’s as good as Gordon’s.

A door bangs open.

“ _ Dean _ !” Sam calls.

“ _ Dean _ ?” The girl demands, but this time her voice is clearer. “ _ Your brother?” _

Dean whimpers, knowing how useless it is.

“Shhh,” Gordon hushes Dean as he desperately tries to wiggle his way out of the headlock Gordon’s got on him with a whimper. “Come on now, little Familiar, that’s it, calm down. Just go right to sleep, Dean.”

The man was  _ cooing  _ at him. Fuck. That was terrifying. Out of all the reactions that Hunters and people had to him, his included, being treated like a household pet was the worse. Being treated like a child.

The drug was working, too. 

Dean’s limbs were turning into taffy, and his paws as he tried to scramble away from Gordon were uncoordinated and tender. His tail flailed like a newborn puppy. His mental facilities were decreasing quickly, words wouldn’t come to him, and his mind was mush.

He wanted to cry. Sam was so  **close** . He could still hear His Person, no longer calling for him, but standing at the door to the motel and looking for him. His heartbeat settling into a more even pattern as he calmed himself. Tried to talk himself out of what he had heard.

“I heard him, Ava,” Sam whispered.

“What?” Now the girl had a name. Ava. Seemed like the type of girl Sam would hang out with. “Dude you told me he calls you, how can he be here? You haven’t told anyone where you are!”

“... I told one person,” Sam whispered, but that was the edge of Dean’s mental acuity, and now his hearing were starting to wane. He whimpered past Gordon’s grip on his mouth.

The man relaxed his other arm, petting down Dean’s side.

“That a boy. Just a little bit longer,”

Dean wondered, faintly, before unconsciousness took him, if Gordon knew how creepy he sounded, or if he was honestly trying to be soothing. Dean didn’t know which was worse. Which he would prefer. At least with monsters they all wanted mostly the same thing.

_ What did Gordon want? _


	14. The Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thing's aren't looking up for Dean as he is captured by Gordon, who wants to kill Sam (for a variety of terrifying reasons).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! I haven't had time to update this (review, upload, edit)  
> So excited for you guys to read this!

Waking up in a cage wasn’t new. Nor was waking up human. What was new was going to sleep a dog and waking up a human. He knows it wasn’t of his own will, because the collar jangled against his throat, something he found annoying any day of the week. Groggily, he reached a hand up to take off the offending piece of dog-jewelry, only his hand stopped a couple feet short. No. That was wrong. He tried to move his hand, and it didn’t go anywhere.

With a confused frown, he blinked.

“You’re awake. Good.”

Dean’s head is kind of floating in a cloud, but he dutifully looks to where the familiar voice had come from.

Gordon was sitting, sprawled out, on a chair in front of Dean’s own chair. He’s in a chair. Not a cage. Blinking stupidly, Dean looked down at his hands and saw them bound with lengths of piano wire. A little excessive, he thinks, rope works just as well. Though the piano wire is silver, and a pretty good way to keep most supernatural creatures down. Excessive. He was a Familiar, not superman.

“What the fuck, Gordon?” Dean mangled the words and winced at his slurred speech. “What the fuck are you even doing here,” 

Dean frowned severely at himself.

Sam hadn’t even come here for a Hunt. Nor had Ellen hinted at there being a hunt. So why was Gordon here? Was he following a vampire trail? That seemed like him, but Dean didn’t know the man well enough. And his entire head felt like a hot air balloon, too hot and too high and just bloated.

Gordon frowned, getting up to stand in front of Dean. He tilt Dean’s chin up and looked in his eyes, and...  _ Was that worry? _

Dean couldn’t quite get his mind to work right.

It looked like worry.

“I was told Familiars had a low tolerance for most drugs,” Gordon said. “But you were out an hour longer than I thought you would be. You were still breathing, so I wasn’t too worried.”

Dean’s a little surprised at that. It makes sense. Been awhile since he’s been drugged, sure, but it makes sense. If beer makes him want to hurl, and a shot gets him as tipsy as a sorority girl at three a.m., then what would modern medicine do? The drugs make him loose, and even with Gordon’s strong grip of his chin, he flops.

“How’d ya know bout me, anyway?” 

His lips are floppy too.

“About you being a Familiar?”

“Duh,” 

“Well, at first, I didn’t.” Gordon admitted, finally letting go of his chin and stepping back. “A few months back, I hunted a Witch. He had a Familiar.”

“You killed a Witch with a Familiar?” Dean questioned, looking at Gordon with new eyes. 

Taking down a Witch was hard enough. Dean knew Familiars were basically like super-batteries for their Witches. The fact that Dean hadn’t even heard of any Hunters taking down a Witch with a familiar before his own untimely turning was statement to that. Next to John, Dean had more time as a Hunter than anyone else. Percentage wise, that is. And none of them were the best at math, so he thought he was right too.

Gordon crossed his arms. “I didn’t kill them. They got away.”

That made more sense. Dean relaxed a little. “... And this leads to you figuring me out, how?”

“When the Witch ran, he left behind everything. He had a very... extensive library. Specifically on Familiars.”

The man smiled. Not a nice smile, at all. Dean narrowed his eyes as Gordon got up and went behind him. He returned not a moment later with a thin book. The cover depicted a hieroglyphic looking person with each body part different. A hand was a hoof, a leg was shaped like a haunch, and the face was a hawks. He couldn’t understand the title, but it was in loopy sharp print.

“This. This is how I found you.”

Dean’s heart stuttered to a halt. 

“ _ Found _ me?”

He remembered that Irene had known what to look for... said it had something to do with his aura.  _ Could it be as simple as reading a book to figure out how to track Familiars? _ Dean couldn’t take his eyes off the book in Gordon’s hands.  _ Was it a spell?  _

What little safety net of denial he had disappeared, was gone. Poof.

“How?” 

Gordon sat down. Opened the book slowly. 

Dean hadn’t know that a book could be torturous without being forced to be read, but this book about familiars was.

“It’s a spell,” Gordon revealed, with a flash of teeth. He stopped the book open to one page and turned that to Dean. 

It was all in latin, and Dean had never been good at just reading it off like Sam - but there was a sketch. It was of two people and a dog. One of the people and the dog ‘glowed’ with a gradient of grey, the other person’s eyes were depicted as glowing as well. So a spell to see Familiar’s in any form. Great. Another thing he needed to worry about. People being able to see him besides little old women.

“Well. That’s... nifty. Still doesn’t explain how you knew it was me,”

Gordon’s smile didn't drop an inch. 

“You’re not the only one with Roadhouse connections.”

It felt like cold water splashed down his entire spine. Dean knew then that he’s coming out of his drugged-stupor as he shook his head. Felt his more snappish qualities coming back. He felt even angrier as Gordon took his phone from his pocket, fiddles with it for a moment, and turned it to Dean. 

On the screen is a picture of Dean, and since it’s him as dog-Dean, he hasn’t a clue where it was taken. Sam’s pant leg is next to him, but he always wears jeans, which is no help at all. Dean himself is perky eared, tongue lolling, but bright eyed on a target. This picture could have been taken anywhere and anytime in the past year.  _ Any time. _ He felt  a crawling feeling along his back as he tried to imagine who got close enough that he didn’t even notice. 

_ Fuck _ . Dean thinks. If Gordon knows about him, that means other Hunter’s know about him. The only saving grace is it seems like most other Hunters who had this piece of information weren’t actively hunting him down. That seemed to be solely a Gordon problem. 

Closing his eyes and breathing before he reopened his eyes, Dean tried to steady himself. 

“Alright, so you know I’m a Familiar. You’ve got me tied to chair.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Plans?”

“This isn't personal. I'm not a killer, Dean. I'm a hunter.” 

None of that sounded good. Dean sweat a little as Gordon came closer. This was it. This was how he died.

“And your brother's fair game.”

That was so far left field from what they had been talking about, Dean stiffened in shock.

“Why the fuck do you want to kill Sam?” Dean demanded, mouth agape. “I thought we were talking about me being a fucking familiar!”

Gordon shook his head, amused at Dean. Like he didn’t understand.

“See, I was doing an exorcism down in Louisiana.” Gordon leaned back casually. Story time. Fucking fantastic. “Teenage girl, seemed routine, some low-level demon. But between all the jabbering and the head-spinning, the damn thing muttered something. About a coming war. And I don't think it meant to, it just kind of slipped out. But it was too late. Piqued my interest. And you can really make a demon talk, you got the right tools.”

“And the girl it was possessing?” Dean asked, already knowing the answer.

Gordon was a specific type of Hunter. 

“She didn't make it,”

“Well, you're a son of a bitch.” Dean snarled, shaking his head. 

Gordon went stoney faced angry before he just smiled, standing up and getting into Dean’s face. “You know, that’s my momma you’re talking about, but your momma is the real bitch, isn’t she,  _ puppy _ ?”

Dean surged forward with a snarl but Gordon had already jerked out of the way. With a smile that wasn’t anything close to a smile. He waved away Dean’s glare and his teeth.

“Anyway. This demon tells me there are soldiers to fight in this coming war. Humans, fighting on hell's side. You believe that? I mean, they're psychics, so they're not exactly pure humans, but still. What kind of worthless scumbag have you got to be to turn against your own race?”

Dean wisely kept his mouth shut tight, keeping in the snarl that wanted to bloom from his chest.

“But you know the biggest kick in the ass? This demon said I knew one of them. Our very own Sammy Winchester.” 

“And you believed ‘em?” Dean was well past amused. There was a certain terror of knowing his secret was so exposed. And now this yahoo was after his brother, as well. God, all he had wanted to do was find Sam. Now they both were in danger. And Sam didn’t even know.

Sam who had convinced him vampires should be released because they didn’t kill humans.

Him betraying humanity was as laughable as a kitten able to eat a full grown man.

“I know. About Sam's visions. I know everything.”

Dean didn’t doubt he did. If he knew that Dean was a Familiar, had a spell that could track him and other’s like him down, than was it so far out that he knew about Sam’s visions? And the roadhouse... Dammit Ellen.

A phone rang then. The ring tone hauntingly familiar. 

It was Dean’s phone.

_ Fuck. Sam _ . What a time to realize your brother is alive and you want to reach out to him.

Gordon was quick, pulling a pistol up to his head and then grabbing Dean’s phone before the second ring. 

“The address is 5637 Monroe Street. You say a thing I don’t like, tell your brother anything I don’t tell you to say: I’ll blow your brains out.”

Then he flipped the phone open and answered it to put it against Dean’s ear. It was much too close and Dean jerked back instinctively from the static in his ear. Gordon kept a hold of the phone but held it about an inch away.

“Hello?” He asked, the cold metal of the gun against his temple a stark reminder that Gordon was unchained, loose and totally willing to kill.

_ “Dean?”  _

Sam's voice, even echoing across the phone settled Dean. Dean felt more like himself. He decided to be brutally honest.

“Sam,” Dean raised his voice a little, to show he was happy he was calling. “I've been looking for you.” 

_ “Yeah. Look, I'm in Indiana, uh Lafayette.”  _

Dean breathed deeply.

“I know.”

_ Please fucking understand the significance of that you fucking idiot, _ Dean pleaded in his mind.

_ “You... do?” _

“Yeah, I talked to Ellen. Just got here myself. It's a real funky town...” His codeword slipped past easily, without a flinch or a flicker from him. “You ditched me, Sammy.”

And wow. Yeah. That hurt more than he thought it would. Reopened all those weird wounds in his chest. 

_ Who knew abandonment really hurt? _

Sam was a little suspicious, Dean knew he recognized the code-word, but there was also something else. Something Sam wasn’t saying, because he now knew time was of the essence. Maybe he realized that Dean had been taken right in front of him?

_ “Uh, how’s your furry problem?” _

Dean felt like punching him. Really? Now he cares?

“Fine.” He bit out. 

_ “Listen Dean some weird shit is happening, I’ve got a lead on some of my... personal problems. Where are you?” _

Dean hears Gordon’s heartbeat pick up in excitement. Smells that he is pleased with the way the conversation is going. Dean’s immediately suspicious, but doesn’t know why Gordon is feeling as he does... Could he - he’s smart. He knows that Dean and Sam have lived the Hunter life their entire lives (or nearly for Sam). He knows about codewords, even if he works alone, he’s got to know Dean has warned Sam.

And he wants that. Dean feels his heart sink.

_ Fuck. Dammit all fuck _ . Dean just practically gift wrapped his brother.

Dean knows Gordon knows he’s going to drop a codeword somewhere in his conversation. Now that he knows that, he can’t let his brother walk into this trap. He... he can’t. So he knows the situation is dire and he needs to warn Sam. How though?

He knew how. Funky town used with beer meant he was in trouble, be on guard, and run, fucking run.

With eyes closed and a deep breath, Dean tells Sam the only way he know: ‘Run’.

“I'm staying at, uh, 5637 Monroe St. Why don't you grab a beer and meet me here?”

There is a pause a moment longer than needs to be.

_ “Yeah. Sure.”  _

And Sam hangs up.

_ Atta boy, Sammy, _ Dean thinks. 

“Good boy,” Gordon says, petting Dean hair. Which makes Dean stiffen and a shiver goes down his spin as the creep-factor of the whole situation notches up by ten. His breath catches. Suddenly he’s back with Andy and Webber who controlled his actions with such a simple touch and words that took over his mind.

He tugged his head out of Gordon’s grasp.

“ **Bite me.** ”

* * *

Sam stared down at the phone in his hand.

These past two weeks had been harder than he thought they would be. Probably worse for Dean, who physically suffered, but Sam had his own problems to deal with. Granted, perhaps, being a Familiar without a person was not a walk in the park but Dean would survive. Hell, he even deserved it a little.

Sam was a better person than Dean though, so he felt bad that he was doing this to him. 

And Sam knew he was somewhat responsible for Dean now. It was hard  **not** to know. With how Dean acted now, it wasn’t a hard line to cross. Dean as a dog wasn’t exactly dependant on anyone (he was vicious, sure, and nasty), but with the collar on they had roles to play. And they both were good at them. 

Scarily good. Sam had to remind himself often to keep in mind Dean  _ was _ the dog. It was easy when Dean was talking back, but sometimes he was just... silent. The running litany of mind-speak sometimes slowed to nothing and Sam was just left with a dog. His brother, yes, but a dog. A dog who acted like a dog, who obeyed commands, who ran after lights, who curled up with him and snuggled; a dog.

Sam had gotten comfortable in their life. Had forgotten a lot of the bad shit and had settled somewhat. 

His mistake.

Dean’s truth bomb from their father had... had thrown him completely. Never in his wildest dreams had he honestly thought that his father would ever admit to thinking him a monster. In his dreams? Yes. his nightmares, too. Literally?... It had been a  fear but one that was mostly unfounded. And yet it was true. His father had thought him a monster, enough that he tasked Dean - a Familiar for fuck’s say - with Sam’s death. Right before death. The bastard. It was a dick move. 

Sam shut down. He didn’t process anything but the betrayal. 

When Dean had walked away, Sam knew he should stop him, but he just couldn’t. Couldn’t force the words out of his throat. Couldn’t open his mouth and call out.

And then Dean was gone.

You wouldn’t think it, but as a dog, Dean was fast. It took him only a few minutes to disappear, and Sam hadn’t even been looking to see it. To lost in his own thoughts, his own pain. He ignored Dean until he was gone and then he felt guilty. Of course he did, he wasn’t a robot.

But he had enough respect for himself and for Dean that he didn’t call him like some worried sick idiot. 

He walked away, drove away, and he didn’t stop until he reached the coast. When he looked at his phone, he had no messages. That wouldn’t be the normal after a week, but still. No messages.

In the beginning it was a relief. It was everything he thought confirmed. Dean’s betrayal stung, and it weighed on it, and it just kept settling in his mind like a wound that refused to heal. Until he got that first voicemail, he just assumed Dean had gone completely feral. Especially since Bobby had confirmed that Dean hadn’t showed up there.

But that first voicemail...

Sam still remembered the bar he was sitting in, watching his phone ring once, then twice, and then on the third a voicemail. Watching the light blink, he shotgunned his beer before listening.

And it was everything he never wanted to hear and everything he needed to hear.

**_[I know it was shitty, me keeping Dad’s last words a secret, but what was I supposed to do, Sam?]_ **

There was, of all things, a bleat that followed that. Like. From a lamb. Sam blinked stupidly as he listened to Dean continue.

**_[In case you care, I am fine. I’m with this lady.]_ **

Sam’s hand clenched, mouth absolutely dropped.  _ What _ ?  _ He had... he had found someone?  _

**_[She’s a spitfire. Found me in some park... She’s a witch. A nice one. I’m helping around her house and she’s letting me hang out. There’s this lamb, and it won’t stop following me around and yelling at me and - ]_ **

There was a pause and Sam still felt completely baffled.  _ A woman? Dean was with a woman? A witch, at that? _

For a long second, Sam was gripped by the fear that Dean was in the clutches of a Witch, one that had finally bound him against his will. Sam had abandoned him, and Dean had packed up with the closest supernatural creature he would. It stung, almost worse than the first betrayal. And yet...

_... He had found a replacement. _

His mouth was dry, his heart pounding. Sam still remembered Dean saying he would rather go doggie than find someone and felt gutted. Dean was moving on.

**_[And I don’t know, Sam. There’s a lot of things I don’t know.  A lot more than usual, anyway.]_ **

Dean paused again. Sam could only stare at the backsplash of the bar. His mind going a mile a minute.

**_[Just give me a call when you’re ready to meet back up.]_ **

Sam had ordered another beer.

The next ten voicemails over the next week were much the same, but Sam found his guilt waning each time. Dean wanted to meet backup, yes, but Sam could hear that he was... happier than he had been. It was the small things. The pauses. The laughs. How he was sometimes interrupted by some animal, whether it be a lamb or a goat or a chicken. 

One time he heard the ‘lady’ in question in the background of one voicemail.

It was voicemail eight.

Dean was asking again where they could meet. Sam was listening in the Impala as he watched the hospital entrance. 

**_[Hey! Dean! Where’d you put the rake?]_ **

Dean’s voicemail voice cut off as he answered. 

**_[Shed! - I don’t know why you haven’t responded yet. Come on, dude,]_ **

And Sam hadn’t bothered listening too closely to the last few seconds.

It was hard, but he couldn’t call him back. He wasn’t sure if he had forgiven him for keeping dads words from him - but he knew it didn’t matter. Sam just hadn’t been able to ruin whatever it was that Dean had found. Especially as his own journey seemed to be heating up. If finding Ava was any consolation to that...

“What is it?” Ava asked, next to him with her arms crossed.

“My brother’s in trouble.” He said, brow furrowed as he thought over the code-words. 

“What?”

“He gave me a codeword. Someone's got a gun on him... and he told me to run.”

“Codeword?” Ava said, eyes wide. “Run?”

“Yeah. Funkytown. Then he told me to get beer.”

He smiled a little. Remembering where that had come from. What a long time ago it was. How long had it been seen he felt that safe?

“Well, he thought of it. It's kind of a . . .long story.” 

At Ava’s gaping face he waved it away. 

“I ... come on.“

Dean being happy with a Witch or not, he was in trouble.

* * *

The book has been left open, and Dean tried to read it. He lost that battle through boredom and his lack of amazing language skills. Eyes flickered over to the book, open to the new page. Gordon had stopped and read a bit in the book, taunting Dean with things only Tanner had know. The picture this page displayed was actually two. One on top of the other. The first showed two people, once again, and a dog. The dog was chained to a wall and mouth open and straining while one of the people stabbed the other. Red, dark brown slashes coming from the person’s chest.

The second picture showed the one person on the ground dead, and the other person putting a new, differently drawn collar on the dog. The dog no longer trying to get away but sitting on the ground, head hanging. It was a very disturbing picture.

“So you want to kill Sam, that’s clear... the only thing I’m confused on - why am I still alive?”

Because Dean’s not an idiot. Gordon, from both his own conversations with the man and Ellen’s warnings delivered by Sam, he knows Gordon is a bloodthirsty bastard with a serious chip on his shoulder concerning any monsters. He’s like Dean version 2.0 if Dean had actually chosen the life of Hunting, rather than raised to be who he was. It makes a difference, Dean has found. It really really does.

Gordon has been silent for a few minutes, fiddling and going through his bag of tricks, pulling knives out of the sleeves and other tools of the trade. Dean can smell the old blood on each of the instruments. Vampire blood, werewolf, and some human in there too. Gordon clearly doesn’t care about infection over whoever gets stabbed with said knives. It makes Dean’s nose twitch.

“Think about it Dean,” Gordon said, and Dean’s attention snaps to Gordon.

Dean narrowed his eyes, but he does. “What is there to think about. According to you, I’m a monster. So. Why am I not dead?”

Gordon looked at Dean then, the first time he’d met eyes with the man in nearly twenty minutes. Then he threw back his head and laughed. And laughed and laughed. Dean really wanted to punch him for that. As the laugh trailed off into short barks of huffing laughter, he sighed and wiped away a stray tear.

Then he walked over and crouched in front of Dean, now they were eye level.

“You’re a familiar, Dean. You’re a creature, sure, but I wouldn’t call you a Monster. You keep your human brain, you don’t have a need to kill, no bloodlust. You’re harmless, as far as I’m concerned.”

Dean stared at him. 

_ What the fuck?  _

“I know, I know, doesn’t sound like me, right?”

“Damn right it doesn’t.”

“Listen Dean, even I know familiars are cursed,” Gordon snorted. “You can bite people to transfer the curse, but all that does is make more baby familiars. And even that doesn’t work all the time. Usually, it’s just an infection followed by a fever and then normal human life with an immunity to familiar bites later in life. Plus, the only time you’re really dangerous is when a Witch is involved.” Gordon made as if looking around, checking over his shoulder. “And I don’t see a Witch, do you?” 

“And what if I did have a Witch?” 

Gordon shrugged. “I’ve killed pets before to get to their owners. Or I left them. I see no difference.”

Dean felt cold. His heart skipped a beat. Gordon considered him non-human, but not non-human enough to be worthy of execution. It’s almost an insult. Almost. The relief that Gordon apparently thinks him sub-human, and therefore lesser and probably dumb, makes its way into his heart.

Clenching his fists, Dean straightened up. “So what... you think I’m a pet?”

Gordon raised a brow.

“You turn into a  _ dog _ , Dean,” 

Well. He wasn’t wrong.

“Plus, I’ve always been more of a dog person.”

_ What the fuck did  _ **_that_ ** _ comment mean _ ? 

“Ahhh, I’ve got your attention now, don’t I?” Gordon said, once more rising to his feet and headed towards the table. He picked up the book, on that same page it had been open to, and brought it over. Dean could see more clearly the depictions and the colors of the pictures. 

It looked almost like...

Dean froze.

They were people, and a dog. It was the picture Dean had seen, only now Dean understood. It looked like the one person had killed the other person to take the familiar, the dog, and bind it. The symbol of the collar was clear. It was to bind one being to another. Switching from a blue collar to a purple collar. And if Sam was his person...

“It’s a binding ritual.” Dean whispered, eyes closed.

“Bingo.”

“I already have a person I’m bound to,” He lied.

Gordon just smiled. “Exactly.”

It clicks. Gordon wants to kill two birds with one stone. He wants Dean as a Familiar. He wants to kill Sam. If he does one, he does both.

“You sick fuck,” Dean spat. “So it’s a two for one kind of deal, huh? You kill Sam and you get rid of him and then take me on as your familiar?”

His stomach feels like it wants to riot at that thought. It’s entirely unacceptable. Sam dying would be like a part of himself dying. 

It’s not allowed. It will  **never** be allowed.

“As if you weren’t hypocritical enough, you’ve added having a Supernatural Pet to the list of things you’re willing to do,” Dean strained against his restraints. “Newsflash Gordy, a familiar needs to be willing. And I ain’t willing to bind myself to you. I won’t. Over my fucking dead body. And if you kill Sam, over his as well.”

Gordon sighed.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” He sang, patting his cheek as the Familiar snarled at him and jerked as far away as he could. “When your Witch dies, for about a half an hour to an hour or so, you’ll be  **begging** for another bond to replace the one you lost.”

He says it like he knows. Like he’s seen it. As if it’s a fact. 

Dean’s eyes twitch to the book in his hands in distress.  _ What the fuck were in those books? _

Nobody ever fucking mentioned any of this. Not about bonds, or willingness being so flaky directly after losing a bond - but Dean knows that it will hurt. Not having half a bond that kept him human. He knows it will be like losing a part of himself, like an arm or a leg, but he also knows he can survive.

Apparently he just needs to last an hour.

Dean shakes those thoughts off. Sam and Dean aren’t even bonded properly. He knows they aren’t. The pain will be as much losing the last piece of his family as it is losing his Person. It’s then that Dean realizes exactly what Gordon said.

“Sam’s not a Witch.”

Gordon shook his head, like Dean was telling a funny joke. “Come on Dean, I thought we were past this. Lying so blatantly?”

Dean shook his head firmly. “He might be psychic, and fucked up by some weird demon shit when he was a kid, but he’s  **not** a Witch,” 

“Sure, and I’m white.”

“He’s not.”

Gordon shook his head. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“He’s  _ not _ .”

“Only Witches, only people with magic, can bind anyone.”

“Then you’d be a fucking Witch if I was bound to you, doesn’t that mean you’d have to kill yourself, too?”

Gordon easily dismissed that.

“That’s different.”

“Oh sure,”

“It is. I’m not some demon's-second-coming that will bring about the end of the world. I’m still working in humanity's best interest. I’m still human.”

Dean looked him straight in the eye as he delivered: “ _ Barely _ .”

“I’m not the one who isn’t human here, Dean,” Gordon said, before shaking his head, as if he’d gotten off track. “You don’t even know, Dean. You don’t know what I’ve seen. About a month ago I found another one of these freaks here in town. He could deep-fry a person just by touching them.”

Well damn. Looks like there was a hunt here. Gordon had killed a kid that was like Sam. 

“Yeah, did he kill anyone?”

“Well, besides Mr. Tinkles the cat? No.” Gordon didn’t seem at all bothered by the double standard he had set for himself. “But he was working up to it. They're all gonna be killers, Dean. We've got to take them all out. And that means Sammy too.”

“Let me get this straight.” Dean yanked at his restraints. “The kid was just a little weird in the head, had visions of the yellow-eyed demon, but hadn’t actually killed anyone? Last I knew, Hunters hunted those that hunted others.”

“He was a monster,” 

“No, he was a kid. A scared kid,” Dean felt his skin tingle. He’d been a human too long. It was starting to wear on him. “I’ve met some of these kids... They’re as human as you or I. Sam’s my flesh and blood for God’s sake, you really think our father woulda taken in any demon kids?”

Gordon just stared at him. Shook his head, like Dean was the crazy one.

“You’ll see Dean. Once Sammy,” Dean wanted to snarl at the nickname. It was  **his** nickname for Sam. “is out of the picture, you’ll see.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You can’t honestly think Sam’s stupid enough to walk into a trap like this, do you?”

“No, I don't,” Here, Gordon smiled. “Especially since I'm sure you found a way to warn him.”

Feeling sick, Dean realized he was right. Gordon wasn’t an idiot. Crazy, sure, but he was just as smart as any Hunter.  He knew about Dean and Sam’s codewords. Had Dean not been a Familiar, he wouldn’t have heard the uptick in the man’s heartbeat and his smell. He would have blindly told his brother to come back. He would have been responsible for his brother’s death.

As Gordon outlined his plan, outlined exactly how he was going to catch Sam unaware, Dean had never felt more grateful for his furry-alter-ego. It was because he knew things, he had been able to warn his brother away. 

Now to just pray Sam listened.

Dean smirked, smug. “Sam’s not coming.”

Gordon’s smile drops a little. His smile hardens. He doesn’t say a thing, though, just kind of looked at Dean.

“You warned him.” A statement. “How?”

“My senses are a hundred times more tuned, now,” Dean didn’t see a problem with admitting. The man had books that probably would tell him soon enough. “I heard your heartbeat, smelled your excitement. At first, all I told him was someone had a gun on me, but then after I realized you wanted that, I warned him to run.”

Gordon smiled, shaking his head. “You Winchesters,” He stated, almost fondly. “Your Daddy taught you well.”

“You bet he did,” Dean flashed teeth then, teeth that were starting to elongate as Dean decided he had had enough. The itching under his skin had gotten worse and worse with each passing second. He couldn't fight the change, no matter how much he could claim control.

He was a dog on the chair, struggling out of the weird way the restraints had fallen on his skinny paws and legs and haunches, before Gordon could even really blink. But those precious few seconds finding his way out of the piano wire and the chair ended up being a second too long. As he turned to jump off the chair, Gordon went for him.

“Oh no you don’t,” Gordon snarled, grabbing Dean by the scruff of the neck and pulling him bodily over to him.

Dean could fight if he could just get his teeth into something, but the way Gordon had him, he was full frontal to Gordon’s chest. He could struggle and writhe, but the man had a firm hold under his jaw, across his neck, and against his midsection. Dean stopped struggling as soon as he realized the man had the upper hand. It was useless to keep wiggling. The man had firm's hands and strong, unyielding forearms.

_ :Let me fucking go,: _ He demanded, but knew that was also useless. Gordon wasn’t a Witch. He wasn’t even really magically inclined as far as Dean knew. He was as deaf as any human was. It was because of that that Dean just kept babbling.  _ :Please let me fucking go. I will never bind myself to you. I will never give in you stupid idiot. Sam if you can hear me, don’t you dare come in - Gordon’s got a trap all laid up for you!: _

The only physical sound was the low growling-whine coming from his throat.

Dean kept broadcasting, even as Gordon took extra care to reach for something behind him with the arm that had been around Dean’s middle - which had been replaced by a strong leg. Gordon had control of his head and Dean knew it would be no use to fight it. As long as he controlled Dean’s muzzle, the Familiar was trapped.

It didn’t take but a moment for Dean to wish he had fought harder.

Because what Gordon brought around to right in front of his face was a muzzle. A silver muzzle made of leather and silver, the buckles small but solid. The worse part was that the smell stung Dean’s nose and he  **_knew_ ** that smell. It was the smell of  _ magic _ . So shocked was he by the appearance of the device, he didn’t even begin fighting until it was already too late.

Gordon slipped the muzzle over his face and latched one of the buckles at the base of his neck before releasing Dean.

Lighting quick, Dean bound away. He only got maybe four or five feet before he was stopped. Brutally. He felt like he had run  _ headfirst  _ into a wall. The muzzle around his face snapped and Dean went down, all bambi-legs and weak joints. With a jerk backwards, he collapsed. 

“YIP!”

With a muffled yelp that was extremely undignified, Dean got back to his feet and tried again.

And again.

And again.

“That’s just sad, Dean,”

Dean could growl, but the effect was severely dampened by the muzzle clamping down on his jaw and the panting and the shaking. He turned to see Gordon right where he had left him. Sitting on the floor, an arm slung over his knee as he watched Dean heave. It was then that Dean noticed that there was no lead. No chain. There was nothing connecting Dean’s muzzle to anything.

Sitting down on his haunches he tried to use his front paws to tear the muzzle off, but he couldn’t. The lack of thumbs was really hurting his chances of escape.

_ :What the fuck is this?: _ He demanded, not expecting any response.

Gordon’s eyes lit up, though, and Dean’s heart sunk.

“There we go,” The man said, with a bright smile. “Little weird, I’ll admit. Can you and Sam do this?”

_ :You can... hear me?: _

The place inside him that felt settled with Sam felt conflicted and extremely off. Like something had been shoved into his chest and was sitting there, not unlike a small fat little man. An alien. 

“I can hear you,” Gordon confirmed. “The muzzle allows for a... temporary connection.”

And Dean was fucking terrified now.

Gordon was inside his  _ head _ .

* * *

With the muzzle on, Dean couldn’t fight back. He was still in shock and shaking, too, when Gordon stepped towards him and then pulled him to the next room by his collar, where his new cage lay. As a dog, Dean was physically weaker than just about any human. Gordon was like superman. Completely impossible to run or struggle away from. It didn’t mean he had to make it easy for him to move him, though. Dean wanted to rip someone’s throat out as he dug his heels in and Gordon dragged him all the way over to the extra large doggie-crate.

_ :You’re a fucking psycho, _ : Dean told him as he was bodily thrust into the crate. 

The man was kind enough to provide him with an old blanket that smelled like a mix of old-people, cologne, and straw.

“And you’re a dog.” Gordon replied.

_ That was going to get old quick,  _ Dean thought only to himself. : _ What’s your plan now? Huh? _ :

“Well, now that your brother isn’t coming here, I’m going to have to go out to look for him.”

_ :Oh, and leave me here, huh?;  _ Dean asked, lips parted as much as possible in a snarl.  _ :You’re already not getting best pet-owner of the year award. Animal abuse has got to be on that list as a no-go.” _

“Of course I’m not leaving you here,” Gordon’s smiles, Dean decided, were the worst part about the man. “You told your brother the address after all. You both are still connected too, so if he come in range you can just warn him off. Of course, I’ll get the warning, too, but that’ll still be a pain in the ass.”

Dean really, really hated that Gordon seemed to know so much about familiars, but he kept his mouth shut and turned around to settle into his new prison. With his butt facing Gordon, he hoped the man would understand that he was dismissing him. 

And for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Dean allowed himself to really question how he got into these situations.

All he had wanted to do was see his brother. Now he was being dog-napped by a crazy man.

_ Oh how the universe turned, _ Dean thought with a deep sigh as he dutifully paid attention to Gordon’s every action. Which started with him dismantling the traps. Then he moved on to packing up his knives and tools. He left the house for a moment, to transfer a load to his car, before returning. Then went the books, his pack, and something else that shifted like a heavy gym bag.

Dean was last.

“Alright Dean, you’ve got choices to make,”

The only indication that Dean was listening was his ears laying flat against his skull.

“First option: I move you, in the cage, to my car.”

Dean winced. That would not be fun. And it would be humiliating. He was a  **person** . And Gordon knew that.

“Second option: You come out, behave yourself, and you’ll get the backseat all to yourself.”

Immediately suspicious, Dean raised his head from his paws and craned his neck around.

_ :What's the catch?: _

“No catch,” Gordon promise. HIs heartbeat steady. His heart was always steady. It was what made him psychopathic. “You can’t get farther than a couple feet from me, anyway. I won’t even  _ need  _ a leash for you.”

Dean almost wants to make him carry his ass, but he’s a person, dammit. This isn’t his first hostage situation.

Walking of your own volition was always better.

So he concedes to the second option. And true to what Gordon had said, he can’t get any farther than five feet away from him. Gordon can walk away from him, and as long as Dean is standing still and not walking in the opposite direction, nothing happens to him. And he tries, often between the short distance from his cage to Gordon’s car, to see how far he could push everything. The slower he goes, the less things jar, too.

“Done?” Gordon asks in amusement as he waits for Dean to come over to him.

_ :I should have bit you,:  _ Dean told him as he steps into the car in front of Gordon.

“You really want to see me as an animal?” Gordon asked, with a brow raised. “Ten to one, if I even turned, I wouldn’t be anything pleasant.”

_ That’s for sure _ , Dean thinks. 

The back of the car is spacious. Maybe all backs of cars are spacious. Dean doesn’t really remember that from his childhood, and that was the only time he would have been dean-doggie shaped. He obeys and lays down when commanded because he doesn’t have a choice. Gordon is holding all the cards right now. And he knows it.

They set off to god-knows where. Dean doesn’t know what Sam will find when he finally gathers up the courage to disobey Dean’s order of ‘run’. He doesn’t know if Gordon has left a surprise, or if Sam will even come. He doesn’t know what is in store for him, either. Gordon clearly wants him as his Familiar, but as long as he is operating under the misguided notion that Sam and Dean are bonded - Dean is safe. You can’t be bound to two people, after all.

It’s his only saving grace.

Gordon turns on some god awful pop-song, and Dean realizes that the torture had just begun.

* * *

Sam finally sucked up the courage the next morning to go to the address that Dean had told him about, with Ava in tow.

“The car’s gone,” is the first thing Ava says as they arrive on the abandoned property.

“There was a car in your vision?”

Ava nodded. “Right there,” And she pointed where fresh tire tracks had sunk into the soil of the run-over asphalt.

It means Gordon is gone. It means Dean’s gone.

“Fuck,” Sam says, punching the side of the house. “What the hell?”

He doesn’t enter the house. Dean would have called out for him in either form just hearing his voice. And if now, if someone still has a gun on him, Sam’s got to play it safe. He decides, after a moment of juggling his phone and his keys, that calling Dean is the best bet. 

It goes to voicemail the first time he calls, which is worrying enough, but Sam also knows that three phone-calls in is when he can reciprocate and actually leave a voicemail. He doesn't get that far. On the second time calling, one the second ring, someone picks up. Except it’s not Dean.

_ “Heya Sammy,” _

Sam freezes, because, he knows that voice. 

“Gordon?” He asks, blinking back in shock. Ava is next to him, looking at him baffled. “Who’s Gordon?”

_ “The one and only,” _ The man on the other end confirmed. _ “Dean can’t come to the phone right now, he’s a little... tied up.” _

There is a low growl in response to that from what Sam has to assume is Dean. Sam stiffens. Dean in dog-form.  _ Shit _ . Not only does Gordon have Dean, but he has Dean as a dog - which means he knows.

“If you hurt him...” Sam left the threat open ended for Ava’s sake. Gordon would get it. The Winchesters were not known for their mercy, even without their father. And when you went after one of their own... Creative was just on way to describe how they would deal with you.

“ _ I’m not going to hurt him, Sam _ ,” Gordon tells him. It’s not much of a relief.  _ “He wasn’t my target to begin with. He’s just the bait. You can imagine my... anger when he warned you to run.” _

_ Him? Gordon had napped Dean because of Sam?  _ It was like his worst nightmare come to life. 

“What the fuck, Gordon?” Sam demanded. “We’re all on the same side here. What did I ever do to you?”

_ “It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you’re going to do.” _

Sam froze.

_ No _ , he decides _ , this is worse than his worst nightmare. This is his absolute worst future.  _

“Let my brother go,” Sam ordered him.

Ava’s eyes grew large as her hand came up to her mouth in shock.

“Yeah, that's not going to happen.”

“Gordon - “

“In three hours you are going to meet me at the warehouses off twenty six.”

* * *

Gordon is a fucking asshole.

He kept Dean in that stupid dog-crate the entire time he talks to Sam. Close enough that whatever sounds he made would cross the phone, but unable to actually communicate. It was a specific kind of torture that Dean didn’t think most people capable of, but Gordon had long ago crossed the line into Monster in Dean’s mind.

The second the muzzle came off, he was tearing the man’s throat out. 

“Well, Dean, looks like you’ll get to see your brother one last time,” Gordon said as he returned Dean’s phone to his inner jacket pocket. “Then we can get on with the rest of our lives.”

Ears cocked back, head firmly on his paws, not looking at him once, Dean replied. 

_ :If you think it’s going to be that easy, you’re dead wrong.: _

“Not even you Winchesters can survive a headshot,” Gordon said, leaning back against the bed.

He gets the bed and Dean gets the cage.

_ :Do I have to be in this fucking crate?: _ Dean demanded, feeling claustrophobic and a little unstable. He knew even if he wanted to, being a human at the moment was completely beyond him. He wasn’t sure if it was because of how exhausted his battery was or because of the muzzle. _ :You’ve got a damn muzzle on me. I can’t hurt you with it on. I can’t escape, either.: _

Gordon seemed to be thinking that over, before he shrugged. “You’re right.” 

He got up and unlatched the crate. 

Dean waited a second for Gordon to back off before he dipped out of the crate and went to settle himself on the bed. He made sure to take over at least three-quarters of the surface area, to force Gordon into a smaller area. It was petty, but Dean couldn’t exactly kill the man. Not yet at least. Without hands Dean was at a severe disadvantage. Supernaturally heightened senses helped for prep and ruining plans, but for actually escaping or attacking - it was pretty useless. 

Gordon raised a brow, amused, as he walked off. “Don’t move,” He told Dean. 

_ :Wasn’t planning on it, _ : Dean confirmed. 

As long as the muzzle was on his face, he couldn’t do a damn thing. He could plan, and think of how to stop Gordon, but he couldn’t do anything. The only things he knew about Gordon’s plan was a location, a time, and the explicit threat of being ‘shot to the face’. 

So a gun. Gordon was going to use a gun. Sam knew how to hide behind things. Dodging. He’d been shot before. A headshot was new, but Sam never got into those kinds of situations... So if Gordon was so sure...

Dean froze. Sniper. He was going to snipe him. 

_ Fucking hell. _ Dean closed his eyes and melted into the couch in defeat. If Gordon keeps far enough away, with the fact that Dean couldn’t leave his side; Dean wouldn’t even be able to warn his brother. If Gordon planned it right, which Dean was sure he was probably doing right now, then his brother was screwed. 

Fuck. What could he do? 

Stretching his paws and his toes, Dean rolled onto his back to think. Gordon wanted one thing: Sam dead. All because of some demon and his ‘Roadhouse’ connections. No. Wait. that wasn’t right, there was something else he wanted.

He wanted Dean as his Familiar. No matter that he didn’t have a snowball's chance in hell.

Damn it all. Damn it all to hell and back.

He was going to have to distract Gordon with himself. 

That was one thing Dean never thought he would have to do. It felt close to  _ actually _ selling himself. Which wasn’t far off the mark, but it seemed... wrong. If he was going to sell himself off, it should be for a reason not life-threatening. Wait. No that’s wrong. Do whatever you can to survive. It’s a motto he’s lived with for forever. This isn’t the worst thing he’s done and it won’t be the last thing he does.

At least it was for Sam.

Resolutely he got off the couch and swore to himself that Sam would never know.

* * *

He found Gordon in the next room. The motel wasn’t big, but there was a divide between the kitchen and the living area that he passed over. Gordon was sitting at the table, with the Familiar book out in front of him, lounging in his chair. Dean’s nails made a clicking noise as he entered into the kitchen tile area which destroyed any element of surprise he had been going for.

The man didn’t say anything, just turned from the book to look at him, a brow quirked.

_ :I’m bored.: _ Dean told him, tail tucking a little. Like he was ashamed to admit it.

Gordon stared at him.

“You can’t be serious.”

_ :You try being a dog for days on end,: _ Dean growled at him, ears back.  _ :I don’t have  _ **_hands_ ** _. I can’t do anything.: _

“And that’s my problem?”

_ : _ **_You’re_ ** _ the one who muzzled me.  _ **_You’re_ ** _ the one who wants a familiar,: _ Dean snorted. _ :What you think it’s all just rainbows and sunshine and powerups?: _

“You are aware I’m going to kill your brother in four hours?” Gordon said, staring at Dean like he was the crazy one.

Who the fuck just brings that up? Was Gordon soft in the head?

Ears back, Dean snarled at him.  _ :I said I was bored, not ready to fucking  _ bond _ with you. You’re still an asshole. A murderous, traitorous asshole. Unfortunately, I can’t kill you. And I’m bored. Who better to bother than my captor?: _

Gordon pushed the book away and turned his full attention to Dean. “Alright. So you’re bored. What do you want to do?”

: _ I don’t know. Bother you? _ : Dean told him, with a doggie-smirk. He took that moment to jump onto the other chair across from Gordon at the table. : _ What are you even doing? _ :

Gordon had on a kind of wistful smile as he pulled the book back. Then he grabbed onto the arm of the chair that Dean was sitting on and pulled him over. The screeching of the chair made Dean shake his head to rid his ears of the static caught within, but once he was done with that, Gordon had pushed the book in front of him.

“This is the first book on Familiar’s I translated,” He told Dean. “It explained what exactly Familiars were, how to bind them, the basics.”

: _ This is what lead you to choose  _ **_not_ ** _ to kill me? _ : Dean asked, nosing at the book. It smelled like the muzzle did. Magic. Old. But more like a book than leather. Old trees made the paper. Not human skin.

“Familiars are shapeshifters, but unlike actual Shapeshifters who steal people's identities, you only have one form,” Gordon opened the book to a page that showed a sketch of a man and all around the man were animals of all shapes and sizes. An elephant, a bat, a dog, a cat, a rat, a hawk stood out to Dean. 

_ :And?:  _

“I’m a Hunter of Monsters.” Gordon claimed. “Hunting animals is for survival. And I don’t hunt dogs.” 

_ :I have just as much potential to kill someone as any other monster, so why me? Hmm?: _

“Because you’re a Hunter, too.” 

Dean glared at him. : _ And that just makes it fine? Me being a Hunter changed your mind about killing me but you won’t budge on Sam?: _

Gordon’s stupid heartbeat never wavered or quivered. It was steady. A background noise that Dean was quickly becoming familiar with. How ignorant must you be to have such beliefs? To believe you are the end all, know all, about any subject?

“You’re cursed,” Gordon said, jaw tight. “Sam’s  **damned** .” Taking a hold of a page and turning it, he added. “There‘s a difference.”

There was a tense moment of silence as Dean stared at Gordon and Gordon stared at Dean.

: _ You’re a fucking psychopath _ .: Dean told him, slumping in the chair. 

“Pot,” Gordon said, with a smug smile. “Kettle. And I never claimed not to be. I know what I am. I know what you are. Sam... Sam is something nobody knows what he is.”

For once, Dean agreed with him. He would never tell him as much, but he agreed nonetheless. You could agree with someone on everything but one subject and be the best of enemies, still. That was something his father had always told him, and something Dean would take to the grave.

_ :He’s human where it matters,: _

“No,” Gordon shook his head. “He isn’t.”

Then he cut that particular conversation topic down to size by switching topics.

“Now, Familiars are only as strong as the animal they are. Otherwise, they are either human or their animal. You’re  _ barely _ supernatural. There is a reason that you’re only considered dangerous when you have a Witch. What’s interesting is that the Hunters who already knew about familiars told me they didn’t actively hunt familiars. There was no use. Familiars could be anything, anyone, and nobody could tell the difference. Plus, as long as there was no Witch involved, familiars liked to keep to their own circles. Hunters didn’t bother Familiars. Familiars didn’t bother Hunters.”

Gordon smiled a sharky smile.

“Now, with this book, we’ve got the upperhand.”

_ Oh, God, _ Dean’s heart sunk as he started putting together the pieces. He wasn’t just here to kill Sam and take Dean as his Familiar. Dean was just a bonus. Gordon had already planned to share these spells to see a Familiars’ aura with  _ other _ Hunters.

Familiars would be dragged into this Hunter/Supernatural war just like everyone else. 

Except, there was a lot more potential for abuse. Dean knew he had the will to say ‘no’ to anybody and everybody when it came to bonding. But what about a kid? What about a newly bitten human who was confused and scared and trapped? God. Would Hunter's force people to take the bite? Would this open up a new can of worms of Hunters messing with Witchy things and spells and curses?

Dean stared, unseeing at the book that Gordon was gleefully talking about. 

Dean thought of Irene. Thought of what he’d been told about familiars by her and by Tanner. For a split second, he felt connected to every other familiar in the world. They were... his people in a way. And Gordon wanted to enslave them all. The good, the bad, everyone.

This couldn’t be allowed to go any farther. He just... it couldn’t.

If Gordon had even a chance of escaping Dean before, it was gone now. He needed to be destroyed. That book needed to be... hidden. The Familiars of the world who were just living their lives, trying to eek by in their simple existences, needed to be protected. They were basically humans. 

Dean would know.

* * *

The big break in Dean’s planning escape and killing Gordon came as he realized that he could hide his inner voice from Gordon. It was an accident. Dean was just complaining to himself like usual, bitching about everything under the sun in a bit to annoy Gordon, when Gordon made the comment:

“You’re awfully quiet.”

_ :Quiet?: _ Dean thinks, glaring at him, thinking he’s yanking his tail. : _ Seriously _ ?:

But then he smelled that Gordon was serious. He was staring at him confused, which was an expression that Gordon didn’t actually portray all that well. 

_ :You can’t hear me? _ : Dean said, thinking of also  **not** talking to Gordon.

He was rewarded with Gordon’s severe frown. His confused scent not dispersing.

“Fine, silent treatment.” Gordon said, with a shrug. “I get it.”

And a plan bloomed in Dean’s mind.

* * *

At three o’clock, Sam showed up to the warehouses knowing that Gordon had something planned. He already knew, logically, that the man wanted him dead. Why else would Ava have a dream about him dying? Why else would he escape it by not going to the house when Dean warned him off?

Sam had few choices, really, so here he was. 

Gordon hadn’t given him an exact place, and warehouses were large areas in general. Hell, he could walk around for an hour before finding the man, but knew that wouldn’t happen. Gordon was waiting from him. Somewhere.

“Anytime you want to warn me what I’m walking into, Dean,” Sam whispered to himself.

But Dean didn’t come popping into his mind, his voice was silent. Just like it had been for weeks. 

And it was all Sam’s fault.

If he hadn’t run away from his brother. If he hadn’t gotten hurt over a final secret Dean their father had shared, and that Dean had decided to share with him. If he hadn’t pushed Dean away. If he hadn’t come to Lafayette Indiana. If, if, if. Sam had never been the kind of person to worry about the ‘what if’s’, but then again Dean had never been taken by a crazy Hunter for some nefarious reason before.

_ :Don’t react.: _

It took everything within Sam to continue walking. Even more so to keep his face pulled into a frown. 

_ :Touch the side of your face if you hear me.: _

Sam did.

_ :Thank God,: _

_ :Listen, okay, don’t talk. Don’t react. Just listen. Gordon doesn’t know our range,: _ Dean told him.  _ :He’s... fuck I have a lot to tell you and not a lot of time. So listen, closely.: _

Sam paused in his walk to pick his phone from his pocket. Giving Dean a chance to tell him more.

_ :We are located on the east-side on a large green crate. It’s the highest point in the entire place. Gordon has a sniper-rifle and he is out for your blood, Sam. When I tell you, you have to duck. Try and keep close to something you can dive behind for cover - understand? No. Don’t let me know. You better understand. Up here, he’s got the high ground - you have to wait for him to leave his post. This is the important part. Do not, and I repeat, do not move from your spot of cover until I tell you that Gordon is moving. He is ready. He is willing. He will wait hours, got it?: _

Sam closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Jesus Christ, Dean,” He breathed.

_ :I heard that...:  _ Dean doesn’t sound amused, but there is relief there.  _ :God, it’s good to see you, Sam.: _

“Wish I could say the same,” Sam frowned.

_ :Gordon is a fucking psychopath. He thinks if he kills you he can bind me to him.: _

Brow furrowing, facing to the west, so that he knows Gordon can’t see his face he asked. “Can he?”

Dean’s silent.

“Moving on, that’s not the only reason he wants me dead,” 

Sam knows Dean had been on the other end of that phone call. Knew he heard what Gordon had said.

_ :No, it’s not. _ : Dean confirms.

For a few seconds it’s silent.

_ :He’s setting up _ .: Dean tells Sam. 

Sam’s heartbeat picks up its pace. Gordon is setting up, aiming at the back of his head. In a minute, he’ll be diving behind cover to wait out the man. The only thing that will stop a bullet landing home in his brain is the fact that Dean is going to be warning him moments before it happens. Maybe even sooner. Hell, Sam doesn’t know. Is there a lag in their mind communication?

“Why can’t I just hide now?” Sam asks.

_ :Because he’ll just wait however long it takes. He’s told me the whole plan, only because he doesn’t realize how far away you and I can talk,: _

“Thank God for small mercies, huh?”

_ :... He’s got this book on Familiars, Sam. He knew things about us that not even Tanner knew...: _

That was a worry for another day.

“He hasn’t hurt you, right?”

_ :No... but he has this muzzle. It’s keeping me a dog and won’t let me to go more than five feet from him. If I try to leave him it’s like running into a brick wall.: _

Sam closed his eyes, sucking in a startled breath.

“How’d he find you?”

_ :The book has a spell for seeing auras.  _ **_Apparently,_ ** ” He said sarcastically. _ “A familiar aura is distinct enough that it comes through in our human and animal forms. He came looking for you, but he found me instead.:  _

“What?”

_ :He was going to try and kill you, but then he realized what I was.” _

_ “Wait.” Sam was confused. “How?” _

_ :From a lot of really random information,: _

“Like what?”

_ :... He had a picture of me. Said he had ‘Roadhouse connections’.: _

Even Sam could hear the quotation marks.

“Shit.”

_ :Yeah. _ :

So Gordon knew about not only Dean, but also about Sam. About Sam and the other kids the demon had visited years ago. And he wanted to kill them for it.

“Alright. Got it.”

* * *

Dean could only pray that Gordon couldn’t see him. He already knew that he couldn't hear him, if he didn’t want him to. Something that the muzzle apparently couldn’t bypass. It still took into account the Familiars thoughts. It allowed private thoughts.

And now he knew he could speak to Sam without Gordon hearing.

Gordon had chained him up just out of reach of where Gordon was laying on the ground setting the sight on Sam. He had enough lead to see over the lip of the container but not any farther. He could maybe nip at the edge of Gordon’s boot, but he couldn’t stop him in any physical way.

_ :Stop this, please, _ : Dean broadcasted at Gordon.  _ :You don’t have to do this. You can just leave.: _

Gordon was starting on his breathing. One deep breath after the next. Dean listened closely for any sign he was about to go. Any anticipation.

“You know I can’t do that,” Gordon said, on his next exhale.

And Dean knew the next one would bring a bullet to Sam’s head.

: _ DUCK _ .: Dean snarled out, as loud as he could. He didn’t care who he broadcasted to. Didn’t care if Gordon heard. It would be better if he did hear.

The next second, a crack split the air.

Dean couldn’t see Sam anymore from over the edge of the crate. For one agonizing second he thought he might have been too late, but then Gordon threw down his weapon and cursed like the Hunter Dean knew he was. Relief flooded Dean then and he sat onto his haunches, smug as could be.

Gordon kept his eyes on where Sam had ducked away, but based on his tensed shoulders, his hammering heart, and his scent of  _ pissedUnhappyAngry _ he was not in the best mood.

“You can talk to him from this distance?” Gordon asked, voice tight. “And you can block me out, even with the muzzle?”

Dean didn’t know why his questions suddenly made him nervous. The answer made itself known as Gordon turned from his weapon to Dean. There was something new in Gordon’s eye that hadn’t been there before. It was like greed and lust all mixed up. Want. A deeper want than Dean had thought Gordon had had inside him before.

Dean took an unsure step back, trying not to make it seem unstable.

“You’re brother is a dead-man walking, Dean,” Gordon said, getting back down to his weapon. “You might want to make peace with that.”

_ :Fuck off. _ : Dean snarled at him.

But Dean was worried.

Gordon had wanted him before, but now there was a new level, a new depth.

And it freaked Dean the fuck out.

* * *

They were in a stalemate for three hours, well into evening. Dean was to the very end of his lead, as far away from Gordon as he could get, because the man had steadily gotten weirder. He would make little comments about what they could accomplish together, what being bound to him would entail. He would tell stories. He would gloat.

He reminded Dean of John and that made it worse.

_ :I’m ripping his throat out, _ : Dean told Sam, each time Gordon made him feel even more uncomfortable. : _ You better not stop me.: _

“I know,” He heard as a whisper from Sam. “And you won’t get any complaints from me. I won’t stop you.”

That didn’t necessarily make Dean more likely to kill Gordon slowly, but it certainly made him consider it. To slowly rip his throat out, latch on and make him wish he’d never even  _ heard _ the word Familiar.

“You warned him I’d be willing to wait the whole night, didn’t you?” Gordon asks, but it's an answer he already knows and Dean’s not about to break his silence to tell him so. Gordon sits up and stretches, and then sits on the edge of the crate with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Dean’s ears perked and his nose twitched, ready to catch the moment inspiration struck.

_ :He’s... thinking.: _

“... What the fuck does that mean.” Sam whispered over the wind.

_ :I don’t know. Nothing good.: _

Gordon sat on the edge of the crate for a few long minutes. Then without any warning, he rose.

“Alright, let's go.”

Dean blinks at him. Gordon started putting his gun away, dismantling it piece by piece. Getting to his feet, but keeping his distance, Dean stretches feeling back into his limbs as he watches him wearily.

_ :Go where?: _ Dean asks, relieved despite himself. : _ I know for a fact you haven’t killed my brother.: _

“He’ll keep.” Gordon claims, as he shuts his case. “You on the other hand... well, I need to get you someplace I can take that muzzle off. I hear it chafes.”

_ Wait. What? _

The muzzle did chaff, but that was beside the point.

Heart beating louder now, Dean skitters to the edge of the crate, as far as the leash will allow him.  _ :You can’t be serious.: _

“I came here to kill Sam,” Gordon reminded him. “I’m not the only one who knows about your brother, Dean. Someone else can kill him. Then you’ll still eventually be un-bound, and I’ll still get you as a familiar. Not the best outcome, but I’m man enough to admit I can live with that.”

_ :You’re not leaving here alive, you gotta realize that - surely?:  _ Dean asks him wearily.

“I’m not dying tonight. Seems Sam isn’t either.”

_ :Sam, _ : Dean called for his brother hesitantly.  _ :Gordon is - : _

That’s when the man moves. Lightening fast. Dean is faster, but the leash keeps him within striking distance within only a handful of huge steps. He feels the tug on his throat start to cut off his air even as he snarls as meanly as he can, but that doesn’t deter Gordon in the least.

He’s got in his hand another needle.

_ Oh fuck.  _ This was not an outcome Dean had considered. He was muzzled, why drug him? Unless...

Gordon wanted him unconscious so he couldn’t warn Sam.

He fought, as much as he could, but wiggling as Gordon bodily grabbed him and tucked him into the ground so he couldn’t struggle or move wasn’t working. Gordon barely had to use even one hand as the leash kept his head in place based on how he had been standing.

_ :I’m going under, Sam,:  _ He told his brother as the needle pierced skin. : _ You’re on your own.: _

“What?!” Sam exclaimed, almost loud enough for it to carry across to human ears.

The drug is that same quick acting stuff that Gordon had used before. Its worse because he’s apparently freakin’ susceptible to most drugs now on a ridiculous level.

Dean only has a chance to realize he’s screwed, so utterly fucking screwed if Sam doesn’t save him. He’s terrified and he’s not afraid to admit it. His blood has frozen as his limbs turn into jello. As he begins to lose consciousness the last thing he sees is Gordon petting him fondly on his neck. It’s creepy. It makes his skin crawl, and not just because of the creep-factor, but because the small bond he and Sam share considers that  _ WRONG _ .

The last thing he thinks is that he is petrified without the drug. He’s never been this afraid. It’s helplessness mixed with despair and terror that he can’t help his brother and what if Sam dies and would that really be enough to bind Dean to Gordon? Even if they didn’t have a bond? 

He prays to God that he wakes up out of this man’s hands.

The last sound he hears from Sam is: 

“Fuck.”

* * *

As soon as Sam loses that connection with Dean’s mind, he leaves his cover. After so long just sitting, talking with Dean, that this could be the ultimate ending... He can’t see all that well in the dark, but Dean had told him the direction, he just had to listen carefully and stop Gordon before he made off with his brother.

He feels sick with worry. Terrified he’s not going to be in time, that he won’t be strong enough, that Gordon will be quicker and take off with his brother. There are too many thoughts in his mind and he has to take a calming breath as Sam takes as long a route around as he can.

His ears are strained to their human limit, but he hears nothing.

For as big as the area around the warehouses is, he doesn’t hear a single thing for five minutes. Just his own breathing which had settled down and the occasional misstep.

He becomes aware of a more labored breathing, soft at first and then picking up in loudness as he came closer.

Barely believing it, Sam hears Gordon speak.

“Heavy son of a bitch, aren’t you?” It’s a muttering, but it's loud enough that Sam hears it.

Sam freezes. That’s Gordon alright. 

And it seems, but the way he’s breathing heavily, that he’s carrying Dean. 

“Who would have thought a dog this small would weigh so much. We’ll have to put you on a diet, Deano.”

Sam can’t believe his luck. He’s automatically suspicious. There is no way that Gordon, kidnapper of his brother, is right around the corner. That is just... That is not how life works. But sure enough, as Sam peeks over the side of the building, there stands Gordon with Dean in his arms, a little too floppy to be asleep and definitely drugged.

The man is frowning down at the dog in his arms as he walks towards the car.

Sam can’t believe his luck, but he’s not one to just pass up on perfect moments. Dean hadn’t said anything about anyone else being in on this ‘mission’ of Gordon’s, and that’s a small mercy, because Sam’s not sure if he could take out two Hunters, let alone Gordon. By himself he’s just one person.

He’s usually got Dean as backup.

Sam doesn’t think of that as he pulls his pistol out of the waistband of his jeans and gets ready to go after his brother. He doesn’t think of the million in one ways Gordon can have backup. He doesn’t think of how suspicious everything had just gotten. He barely begins to think about anything but how good it’s going to feel when he punches Gordon in his stupid face.

Sam waits for Gordon to put Dean into the trunk of his car and make his way back around the car before he does anything.

Gordon pulls out his cell phone and Sam knows he has to act before he can relay any information. Still, he’s a little slow and Gordon’s contact that he dials answers on the first ring.

“I’ve got the Familiar - his brother is - ”

Sure enough, it  _ does _ feel good when he shoots the man in his chest, missing and hitting his arm instead. The blow hits Gordon and the man whirls and jumps to the side, even in his shock he’s quick. The cellphone is clutched in his hand.

“Gah!” He snarls as he, too, reaches for his own weapon. But Sam has the upperhand.

“Stop!” Sam orders, keeping his gun up and aimed towards the bastards face. The man freezes into a statue. “Make one more move and you’re dead -”

The freezing was just a ploy and faster than Sam can track the man moves.

Gordon reached for something in the back seat and Sam fired.

Gordon fell to the ground. Cursing up a storm. Sam’s aim was better the second time, and he’d gotten him in the leg.

“You fuck! Fucking fuck!”

Sam wants to ignore the felled body of Gordon and go straight for Dean, but he remembers the phone. He snatches it up, but the number Gordon had called, the person on the other end, was gone. Quickly pocketing the phone, Sam turned to Dean. Who’s still got a muzzle on and is still down for the count and drugged all because of Sam. 

“I’m going to enjoy this, Gordon,” Sam said, as he turned to Gordon on the ground, crawling for his own supplies in the back of his car.

Sam hefts the gun. Stares down his sights at Gordon and his bloody mouth, his bloody teeth bared in a snarl. And he -

He can’t do it. He’s not a murder. Just like he had said.

“You’re a traitor to your own kind, Sammy,” Gordon snarled. “You’ve got to be taken out! If we don’t then - “

Sam curb stomped him into the ground. Which shut him right up. The force and the angle, knocked him unconscious. Sam wasted little time in getting Dean, throwing a fair amount of Gordon’s weapons in his duffle bag at the unconscious man’s feet, before he started driving off - phone against his ear.

“Yeah? 911 I got an emergency all right, me and my buddies were down at the ____ and some asshole keeps waving a gun and claiming there are monsters... yes... uh huh... yeah scared the crap out of us - no I ain’t waiting! We’re getting out of dodge!”

And then shut the phone and threw it out the window.

* * *

Dean comes to slowly. It’s disorienting, being drugged. Like being kicked in the balls.

_ Would  _ **_not_ ** _ recommend,  _ Dean thinks dry-mouthed, before he realizes what the last thing he could remember was.

Gordon. Going after Sam. Being drugged so Dean couldn’t warn Sam. The terror. The helplessness. Gordon’s smug smile. 

Dean doesn’t even think about it as he jerked upright, moving faster than he should, much too soon, his eyes snapping open wildly. The world tilts on its axis, and his stomach flips but it doesn’t matter. He can’t see. It’s all fuzzy blurry shapes. The smells are all confusing, too. Motel, old cotton, musty, moldy - 

There is a hand on his back. It was familiar. Unfortunately, a little too familiar. It could easily have been Sam, but Dean remembers the last hand to touch him as Gordon’s. He growls low, a snarl that builds in the back of his throat and is  _ menacing _ . He’s two seconds away from snapping with teeth and claws. On the verge of a panic attack, Dean physically flinches back when a voice cuts through all the noise of the world.

“Hey, whoa, easy there,”

It’s Sam’s voice. Dean’s whole entire body relaxes hearing it, the snarl dies in his throat, and Dean nearly cried right then and right there. 

Dean lurches into a sitting position, which is more laying as a dog, even with Sam’s hands trying to gently hold him down.

: _ Sammy _ !: It burst out of his chest like a laugh. :Y _ ou’re okay _ !:

Then Dean realizes he’s still a dog.

Oh well. Nothing for it. 

Shaking his head to get rid of the rest of the cobwebs in his brain, Dean looked at his brother for the first time in weeks. He’d only been able to see the faint Sam-shaped outline in the distance when Gordon had gotten ready to shoot him. Luckily, Sam hasn’t changed, except for maybe the bags under his eyes, like he’s been on a long hunt. Dean feels weak, tired, and drained; but he’s the happiest he’s been in months.

“Hey Dean,” Sam has a smile on his face, too. “And  **you’re** okay.”

Even exhausted, Dean managed to throw himself into Sam’s lap, wiggling until he’s as close as he can be. The smell of Sam is calming. It’s like a nice long bath after a hard fight. Soothes his muscles, physical and mental. The feeling of Sam solid and warm beneath him grounds Dean in a way he didn’t know he was looking for. Didn’t know he missed. It was the same as when he first heard Sam’s voice in that dinky motel room a lifetime ago. 

He feels complete.

Sam doesn’t hesitate to return the sentiment, arms winding their way around Dean’s entire body and crushing him to his chest. There is the tiniest, littlest shaking in his arms, and Dean knows that Sam needed this just as much as he did.

Dean doesn’t think of this as weird. The hugging. The touchy-feely. He might, later, but right now he’s just happy to have his his brother back. His person. And his dog-familiar-brain is mostly forefront. Touch, feel, smell, hear -  that’s all Dean wants to do to assure himself that this is real, and not a dream, and Gordon doesn’t still have him - 

And Dean’s human thought’s came right back to the forefront of his mind. 

: _ What happened _ ?: Dean asked, face mushed somewhere between Sam’s armpit and collarbone.

“Gordon drugged you and I caught him unaware.”

_ :He’s dead, right?: _

Sam hesitated but shook his head. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Sam denied. “I just - He kept saying I was a killer and I couldn’t prove him right,”

Dean stays silent for half a second.

_ :He says other Hunters know about Familiars. Other’s know about you. And me. So it wouldn’t have mattered,: _

Sam’s hand pets down his neck. When Gordon had done it, it had made him feel dirty. Unlike Sam’s hand which is familiar and welcome. 

“Just means we have to lay low for a while.”

: _ Oh  _ **_now_ ** _ you want to go on vacation, _ : Dean teased, feeling good to be able to do so. 

It had been a while. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed it until he was in his brother’s arms and prickling him with a stick just to get a rise. They sit, quiet, and just kind of soak each other up. Dean needs the comfort and the human contact especially to recharge his battery; and Sam is still reeling from how close he had been from losing Dean.

They sit that way for a while.

Dean asks, again, feeling itchy. Unfinished business makes him feel that way a lot.  _ :Gordon’s gone though, right?: _

“Yes,” Sam huffed. “I already told you that. I called the police on his ass, and I listened to the radio as they brought him in. Not the first time he was wanted for something,”

_ :Just making sure...:  _

Sam nodded. Hand stroking down Dean’s flank.

: _ Did you find what you went looking for? _ : Dean asked, nearly a whisper in their conjoined mind-space. 

Sam’s quiet.

_ Did he? _ He wondered. In some ways, yes. In others, no. It just wasn’t what he thought it was supposed to be. He was still no closer to finding out why the hell the demon had done this to him and the others like him, but he figured out other things. Like what being alone without family really felt like. Knowing that this time he’d left with worse bad-feeling than last time and no father to come back to. That there the other’s like him weren’t inherently bad. He knew that, logically, but every time he met one that was decent he was shocked and surprised. 

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted.

* * *

They don’t separate for another ten minutes, and then only because Sam’s stomach growls and Dean’s follows, realizing its hungry too. Knowing he won’t be able to muster up the energy to transform, Dean stresses they better be eating at a dog-friendly place. Sam gives him one of those hurt-puppy faces because he knows he's at least at little at fault for that. It doesn’t last long, though.

“I still think we should get you a service-dog vest,” Sam smiles, a shit-eating-grin at him as they lock up and walk to the car.

_ :Bite me, _ : Dean snorts at him.

With Sam it’s teasing and in jest, but Dean remembered saying those words to Gordon and meaning every single word. Dean shakes his head to rid himself the mental images and feelings that crawl over him like insects. It’s better to just forget. And Dean is very good at repressing.

Dean smells it before he sees it.

_ :What’s that?:  _ He asks as they come closer to the Impala. It smells of magic, and old wood, and musty-oldness.

“I emptied Gordon’s truck...” Sam told him, opening the door. “Took everything he had.”

In the backseat is a pile of books, each one more faded and worn than the last. The Muzzle Dean had been captured in was wrapped in a walmart baggie, but the smell lingered. There were a few other things, too. A leash, what looked like an embroidered box, black candles, a bleached white cloth, and something wrapped carefully in what smelled like dried, tanned skin. There is also a few bags full of Gordon’s weapons that are stashed under their chairs, but it’s the books and the other stuff that hold Dean’s attention.

_ :This was all of it?: _ Dean asked. 

“Yeah, why?” Sam looked over all the stuff quickly. “Did I miss something? Is there more?”

Dean tried to think back to the motel room, but he didn’t remember half the stuff he was seeing in the backseat.

_ :I have no clue.:  _ Dean admitted with a sigh. _ :He had a motel room, and I have no clue if he left anything there. I don’t think so though. I got the impression he wasn’t planning to stay in town for very long.: _

The Familiar tried, and failed, to contain the shiver at that. Phantom fingers dragged through his fur as he remembered how creepy Gordon had been. He didn’t even want to entertain the thought of what would have happened had he succeeded and actually murdered his brother. Being bound to a man who should have been the mirror of Dean was just... it was not a thought he wanted to think.

“Bastard,” Sam told him. There was no pity, but sympathy. 

_ : _ **_Idiot_ ** _ bastard,: _

“Idiot Bastard,” Sam conceded.

Sam ruffled Dean’s head-fur fondly to push him forward into the car, then he closed the door when he was fully seated and went to the drivers side. Once they both were situated and out onto the road, Dean stuck his head out the window and the joy of it all was clear to see. Sam let the tension go in his shoulders and relaxed, turning up the radio, as they went.

It just so happened to be playing:  Renegade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anndddd boom! Review and comment please! I love them and I love talking with you all :D


	15. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ava is gone. Dean demands his vacation (damnit). And some things are avoided, while other things are faced head on.  
> (All while the vacation goes exactly how they thought it would)

Ava wasn’t answering her cell. She wasn’t at her home. There was nothing. Sam wanted to keep looking, but Dean just mean-mugged him. He was tired, he’d been kidnapped, and damnit - he wanted a nap!

A woman and her husband's disappearance could be any number of things. Considering all that had happened, Dean wouldn’t blame them for getting out of dodge.

“We’re taking a vacation,”

“Ava might be in danger,”

Dean looked around at the pristine, if not altogether too off-white perfect bedroom. There wasn’t a smell of anything except stale sex, a scent he now knew as ‘blissful serenity’ by Bath and Body, and a lack of warmth.

“She probably ran, Sam,” Dean said. “Would you do any different after having a day like her’s?”

Sam couldn’t say, but he relented frowning severely.

* * *

The books about familiars sat heavy on Dean’s mind, but they sat like lead weights on Sam’s shoulders. He immediately became obsessed and began translating the books cover to cover. The first night in the hotel after their reunion was filled with the soft sound of paper turning, Sam clacking away at a keyboard, and Dean watching.

The strangest thing happened to Dean then as he watched his brother voraciously tear through the books, filling up a notebook with his chicken scratch as he translated. It was a weird feeling. Like fear, and apprehensiveness, and unwelcome knowledge he didn’t want Sam to know anymore about him.

_ :We’re taking a break, Sam,:  _ Dean said, demanded, pleaded - he wasn’t sure what his voice must sound like. : _ Put the books away,: _

Sam jolted back, eyes wide as he turned to stare at Dean.

“Bu-but Dean!” He countered. “This could have the answers to cure you! This could tell us how to combat witches with Familiars like you! The possibilities are endless.”

Dean gave him his most unimpressed stare. As a dog, it was much easier to just stare and get his point across.

_ :And are we going to be doing anything about it in the next,: _ He looked to the clock, it read one in the morning. _ :Twelve hours?: _

Sam opened his mouth to complain more but Dean hit him where it hurt.

_ :We’re taking a break. That means from reading, too.: _

His younger brother scowled at him, glaring, but to Deans ultimate relief set the book and notebook aside. He got up then, too, and came to the bed. They rarely got a two-bed anymore, because at night was the perfect time for Dean to recharge. Without fanfair or anything more than a huff, he got under the covers and clicked the lights off.

Ah. So that’s how this was going to go... Dean accepted that, curling up at Sam’s feet as he looked over to the old tomes.

Unfortunately, that just made his nightmares way more Gordon-centric than he would ever be comfortable.

* * *

True to their agreement, Dean and Sam took a break.

It’s not much, but it helps. They drive a whole day to the beach and rent a little motel for a week. Dean refuses to allow Sam to look for any hunts, which he knows are boundless around these areas. And he doesn’t let Sam even try to touch the familiar-tomes they had found in Gordon’s possession. In fact, he forced a drop off with bobby, who was better than any storage locker. In retaliation, Sam wouldn’t let Dean shift until he’s got his battery back up to acceptable levels. Which hasn’t happened yet, and they were only on day four.

It’s strange for both Sam and Dean to be doing nothing. Strangely, Dean’s a little more used to it, because of his time with Irene, but that wasn’t saying much. Because he was also dognapped by Gordon. He’s still antsy being stuck as a dog, even as they manage to either go to the beach, or eat at those outside diners that allow dogs, or hang out in their motels to watch movies - but he’s getting better. 

It’s relaxing.

So relaxing that both of them are on edge by the end of the day five.

“Dean, if we don’t take a case,” Sam told the dog lying next to him on the bed. “One of us is going to kill the the other.”

_ :I’d win that fight,: _ Dean grumbled, but silently conceded the point. As nice as it was to have his brother to himself, they were bored, way too relaxed that it was now beginning to verge on too tense, and nearly at each other’s throats. It was more a feedback of energy than anything else, since Dean knew he would have been able to relax had Sam not been all full of nervous energy and seeping anxiety. 

It helped that with the time away, Dean wasn’t feeling the need to absolutely obey Sam every second of every day. A day away from him, or a few days away, to cure this stupid need for a ‘master’ figure? Dean was alright with doing that. Taking a week from Sam would not be a walk in the park, but if it kept him sane, free, and without stupid baggage? 

He’d do it. He’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I say we call Ellen again,” Sam said.

Dean’s ears laid flat as he bared his teeth. : _ Oh yes, lets just contact one of the reasons we’re in this whole mess. _ :

Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s not fair. She didn’t tell Gordon anything. You know that.”

_ :Doesn’t matter if she did or not, she’s the source of the it all. Gordon said he had Roadhouse connections. Meaning, we’ve got to choose when and how and who we contact.: _

“We can’t just stay away!”

Dean just stared at him like he’d hit his head. He liked Ellen, he did, but this was their lives they were talking about.

_ :Sam, of course we can.: _

Sam blew a hard breath as he got off the bed. 

“Yeah, well I don’t want to. This is Ellen and Jo and Ash we’re talking about.”

_ :Let’s not get sentimental now,:  _ Dean told him, rising as well. : _ We’ve known them for less than a few months.: _

Albeit a lot had happened in those few months and Ellen had managed to earn their trust. Though it had been shaken up by Gordon and his mind-games. Dean tried to hold onto that feeling he had once had, long ago, that had given Dean that innate sense of trust for Ellen that lead him to revealing himself. Trusting his Doggie-nose and his senses had gotten him far, but Dean was still pretty shook up at his core.

Being dog-napped wasn’t something you just get over. Dean was a Hunter and he bounced back from some pretty gnarly shit, but for some reason... this whole experience was lingering on him, in him. Like slime. Or mold. It grew and grew and grew with every tiny reminder. Being petted, when strangers baby-talked to him, humans who smiled to much - it was all becoming a lot. Lego bricks building into a wall.

Sam just snorted, unaware of Dean’s thoughts or feelings.

“And? I happen to like them,” Throwing on his jacket he waited for Dean to hop off the bed, Sam ignored Dean’s silence. 

With a sigh, Dean followed right at Sam’s heels.

_ :Liking them or not, we don’t risk us or other people just because we want to,: _ Dean snorted. : _ That’s pretty selfish _ .:

Dean could smell Sam’s scent change, a small change of something. Maybe worry, or unhappiness, all of it wrapped with a kind of acceptance. Still when he spoke, Dean felt himself wish his brother would just listen.  

“Ellen runs with Hunters, and last time I was there, Jo wasn’t. So it’s just Ash and her, and they’ve made their decisions. They’re adults.” 

_ :You’re going to call her no matter what, aren’t you?:  _

“Yup.”

Dean sighed.

He didn’t say another word as he trotted ahead of Sam. Only listened as Sam called Ellen.

He still thought it was a bad idea, but Sam was his own man.

“Hey! Ellen? I know, Dean told me,”

And wasn’t that just how Dean wanted that to go.

* * *

Unfortunately, what he thought didn’t matter as Sam got the details for a weird death in relationship to some old hotel. A woman and her handyman had found the deadman hanging, and nobody was quite sure what was going on. The hotel location was close, too. No more than two hours drive.

When they arrived, Dean immediately got a strange feeling from the place.

There was a smell that didn’t seem right on the outside. Something earthy that he’d never smelled. Or if he had, it had been with his human-nose and not his dog-nose. So it was a new smell, one of those ones that didn’t pop up all that often anymore, and Dean didn’t like that.

“Doesn’t smell right.” Dean said, his voice lower than usual. Being a dog for going on a week had helped with his battery but now almost  every word he spoke with was a growl. He’d nearly made a waitress cry when ordering pie. And his ‘animal’ instincts as he liked to call them, stayed close to the surface which was taking some effort to control. He wanted to snap at people, and growl at their stupidity, and generally be very animalistic. Which was frowned upon, since he was human.

“What doesn’t smell right?” Sam asked as the car pulled to a stop.

They both were wearing their FBI suits. As they stepped out of the car, Dean adjusted himself and told Sam.

“I’ve never smelled it before... It’s new.”

“New like... new or you’ve never smelled it with doggie-nose?”

“Doggie-nose virgin,” Dean said tapping the side of his nose.

“Great.” Sam muttered. “Just what we need. You want to be a dog for this?”

Dean paused as he fiddled with his cuffs. 

He did want to be a dog for this, but he also wanted to be human. The warring halves of him made Dean see why his whole situation was titled as a ‘curse’. It wasn’t just the need to be a dog, it wasn’t the itching to change, it wasn’t even the whole supernatural element. No. It was the fact that Dean didn’t know what he wanted at any single moment in time. His world was one topsy-turvey moment after the next. He wanted to be a dog but he missed having thumbs. He wanted to be a human but missed the simplicity of simple-doggie thoughts. He wanted those powerful sensations but he wanted to be a human while he had them.

He was living his life entirely in limbo and he didn’t know how to balance it out.

In the end it came down to what would help more. They already had one human. A dog couldn’t hurt.

With a sigh, Dean conceded. “Dog.”

Sam shared a sad look with him but Dean ignored it as he listened for anyone close, anyone watching. There was one woman in a room on the other end of house. Another, small person, maybe a girl, maybe a boy, in an upstairs room. Then nothing.

So, Dean changed, feeling the shift come over him without any fanfare. The smells became so much more powerful, and he finally was able to analyze the smell a little better. Earthy and leafy, it was a kind of plant, and it was pungent. It took some sniffing but Dean found it soon enough, planted at the edge of the back door. 

: _ Sam _ ,: Dean said, blinking in shock.

He’d seen this plant before. Smelled it even, but as a dog the smell was completely foreign. Or perhaps he should have worded that better. The plant had a certain smell, but it wasn’t the smell Dean was smelling at this exact moment. What should have been the plants smell was being covered and molded into something new -  with magic.

: _ Hoodoo _ ,: Dean told Sam as his taller giant of a brother came over.

“Look,” Sam said, wiping away dirt from some carvings. 

_ :Definitely funky,: _ Dean told him, sneezing as he transformed back to his suit. “Whatever is happening is not good.”

Sam sighed, picking at the symbol. “What are we thinking?”

“Well - It’s hoodoo so some kind of witch...”

“Witch?” Sam demanded.

Dean gave a tired sigh. “Witch.”

And damn. Dean had just finished getting to know a witch, and like her, this was going to be like the vampire situation all over again - wasn’t it? Dean really hated when things were muddled. It was hard to do what needed to be done. Thinking of a witch only brought up Irene. Not any of those people they’d ganked before, but Irene. A sweet old lady, with a family, and a perchant for cooking too much.

So why the hell did it have to be another old lady?

* * *

The owner was a middle aged woman with a daughter and a mother that she kept in the attic. Which wasn’t the weirdest thing they’d seen but it was kind of fucked up. After they schmoozed their way into the hotel, Dean and Sam were quick to follow Dean’s nose towards anything leaning on the side of supernatural.

Lo and behold his nose led him around the second floor and to the stairs upwards. 

Opening his senses, Dean tried to get a picture of the world with his extra senses. Dean heard the floorboards creak, the house old. He smelled the mold that was only beginning to show and the mold that was already settled deep into the wood. He felt the vibrations from cars passing the house, close enough that the wind sent faint, faint tremors through the wood.

And he heard the daughter speaking with her imaginary friend. All harmless stuff, playing dolls.

Dean dismissed her as he turned his attention upwards, to the attic.

One lone heartbeat greeted him, quick like a hummingbirds and stuttering. His nose caught only the surface of the floor they were on and to get a hint of anything they’d have to go up the stairs. He told Sam as much before leading them both forward. It felt... good. To be human. To be in the lead. He felt uneasy about the situation but he wasn’t sure why - it was a creepy house but so far no monsters. Just maybe a Witch or a poltergeist. 

The familiar found himself questioning which one he honestly prefered.

A hand came down on Dean’s shoulder, startling him into jolting around to look at Sam’s concerned mug.

“You okay there?” 

“‘M fine,” Dean said, flashing a quick smirk. “Just listening.”

He raised a brow. “Anything good?”

Dean shook his head.

“Grandma is upstairs alright, though,”

Sam huffed but shrugged. “Then lets go.”

* * *

Grandma was a bust. Just an old lady sitting and muttering to herself. The stroke the lady had told them was real and completely debilitating. Luckily, Dean heard the lady stomping towards them way before she got to the stairs and they escaped. Holding their breath, cramping into a little closet, they waited for the lady to move on after checking on her mother. It didn’t take too long, but it was long enough.

Just as Dean was about to lead Sam down to the first floor he caught the end of a conversation the little girl was having with her invisible friend, Maggie. Now, Dean had been listening with half a mind the entire time, knowing never to dismiss children, but this one-sided conversation was... interesting.

“It will be okay Maggie,”

“...”

“No, Mom wouldn’t do that.”

“...”

“Of course I know she won’t.”

“...”

“I guess you’re right... but she wouldn’t separate us like that.”

“...”

“I  **promise** .”

Dean shivered. An involuntary response to the way the girl was speaking. An involuntary reaction to something that Dean couldn’t put his finger on. All he knew was that his skin was prickling. His heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong. It was something he could  **feel** rather than  _ understand _ . If that made any sense.

“Sam.” Dean hissed, hand coming up to slam into his chest.

His heart was beating faster now. It was deeply, deeply unsettling.

“Dean?” 

The light bulb came on in Dean’s head just about the time Sam free’d himself and wedged himself in front of Dean. Blinking, Dean met Sam’s worried eyes.

“The kid’s talking to something.”

“Wait - what?”

But Dean was already shoving past and walking towards the playroom.

Imaginary friend? Yeah right. That was the oldest trick in the ghost-book. But Dean hadn’t seen anything and he’d seen her talking to herself - maybe that wasn’t one of his ‘powers’ so to speak. Hearing things, smelling things - he could do, but seeing ghosts was where the line was drawn...

At least some things had stayed the same.

* * *

Except, this wasn’t an easy one.

The girl, ghost as she was, wasn’t an easy kill. She could literally be attached to any number of the dolls, toys, or the house itself. Dean didn’t know, and his nose wasn’t helping in the slightest. So, they were left with nothing but good old fashion Hunter Instinct and questions.

Questions that were not taken well by the mother of the girl.

Dean sat, happy to be a dog for once, and let Tyler pet his fur for comfort from her mother shouting at Sam. As the mother got up in Sam’s face, Sam held up his hands defensively.

“Look - “

“How dare you!” Susan shouted. “You come into my house! You come in and ask all these questions! Which I answer, by the way, and now you’re interrogating my daughter?”

Sam blinked in the face of her rage, and tried to calm her. “Listen - look you’ve got this all wrong - “

“Get out!! Get out!” Susan screamed, pushing Sam’s much larger frame with surprising strength. 

Sam was a non-confrontational person for the most part, which never ceased to make Dean amused because he was a literal giant. Still, Dean knew Sam was never going to be able to handle this by himself. Barking from his position, Dean decided his best bet was distraction. When one bark only made Sam look, he continued in a chain of them.

“Dean, shhh,” Tyler said, petting him as if to calm him. “It’s okay. Mommy will stop soon,”

_ :Dude, get a clue,:  _ Dean snarled in his mind. _ :Use me, ya dipshit,: _

Sam understood immediately, given his connection and his knowledge of Dean. “Dean?” He asked, concerned. “Dean, come on, shut it,”

But, pretending to be a dumb dog, he continued barking. Which got Susan’s attention, with how close to her daughter he was. 

“What? What is it? What’s up with him?” Susan asked, a little concerned now. 

Paranoia had its place. And the poor mother had had to deal with a lot of weird things that this was starting to become... well, enough of an obvious ‘wrongness’. And those animal instincts inside her own brain were listening when another animal, with much less thought behind its actions, responded. 

“He’s, uhm, trained to sense.. Uh - well...” Sam trailed off expertly, like he was actually waffling, uncertain. It was beautiful acting.

“He’s trained to sense what?” Susan snapped, nervous now.

“Ghosts.”

“... Ghosts?”

“Uhm, yeah, well okay, ‘trained’ is a little bit of a stretch,” Sam rambled. “He just knows when ghosts are around. Usually kicks up a fuss until we leave or we...” Sam hesitated, “get rid of the ghost.”

Susan startled.

“Get the hell out of my house,”

And that was when all of the light bulbs around them in the house shattered.

* * *

Dean was surprised that he wasn’t surprised.

The ghost, Maggie, was a kid. A little kid who was angry, and tortured, and just wanted a friend to keep her company in her lonely afterlife. Which she screamed often, by the way, as Sam ran around, being slammed into walls and thrown around. Dean turned into a human after the first throw, which had made mother and daughter alike scream. The mother in horror and surprise and the daughter in delight and awe. 

The fight lasted right up until something in the air changed. Dean had been slammed into a wall and was on the ground, gasping for breath, Sam had been held up against a broken door frame. It was not looking good. And then, suddenly, they were released.

Neither Dean nor Sam had thrown salt, or burned any bones, but Maggie stopped.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dean said, holding a cold press to his forehead that Susan had shakily given him.

“Ditto,” Sam grunted as he gingerly laid back on the chair. His bones ached. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I mean, vengeful spirit is one thing,” Dean said. Sam finished for him. “Grandma coming in to save our asses is another thing entirely,”

Tyler was sitting at the table with them. Shaking.

“Maggie didn’t mean to hurt anybody,” She said, still visibly upset and shaken. “She was just lonely,”

Dean, with his newfound softness for children, smiled encouragingly at her. “Hey, we know, alright? She was just sad and angry, and sad and angry and lonely people lash out. We understand,”

Tyler sniffled. Before throwing herself into his lap.

“Can you turn back into a dog now?”

Dean couldn’t say no to those puppydog eyes. So he transformed still on the chair. It was a tight fit, but Tyler wasn’t really looking for him to get away from her. She threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. Shoving her face into his fur, he felt her begin to cry.

_ Strong kid, _ he thought with respect.

Susan came back into the room to Dean wrapped around her kid, with Tyler starting to nod off. His ears perked up, his eyes tracking as she came farther into the room. Yet, Susan didn't say anything. She just sat across from him, with Sam, holding herself as she stared off into space. Glad, probably, that she was able to process without freaking out her child.

It never was much of a surprise when after a hunt, and the supernatural was revealed to be real, how quickly people changed their tunes. So they all sat around, waiting for the moment to pass, in awkward uncomfortable, but not completely unpleasant silence.

* * *

 

Sam and Dean in the car, both human, should be a relief to Dean, but it’s just weird. Human hands, covered with human skin, listening to the radio at a relatively human volume through the headphones rather than with his super sensitive doggie-ears. A week of beach days, of doggie brain and a lot of hamburgers eaten with canines made being human-Dean for longer than a few minutes... awkward...

“Where next?” Dean asked, trying not to twitch in his seat, in his jeans that were too scrappy and uncomfortable.

He’d been wearing jeans his entire life, and now it was like sitting on sandpaper.

“Uh,” Sam said oh so eloquently as he looked over the news paper he’d picked up at the last gas station. “I got no clue,”

“What?” Dean asked, yanking on his too-tight shirt collar. “Nothing? Really?”

“No spirits, no crop circles, no nothing,” 

“Maybe call the roadhouse?”

Sam stopped reading, looking over at Dean. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Dean said, riding. “Why not? We’ve already called them once.” 

He kept his eyes on the road. Not turning to even glance at his brother. If he had, he would have seen Sam looking at him, worried, brow furrowed, as he opened his mouth to speak.

Only, Dean got there first, and ramped up the radio. That combined with the headphones basically shut Sam right down. 

Dean was almost thankful that Sam had forgotten, for the moment, the familiar books.

* * *

It was an impressive display, Dean had to admit. Every wall was plastered with newspaper articles, a rainbow of strings wound around thumb tacks, with photos that looked like they’d been taken behind a bush and with an unsteady hand as they were blurry and streaked. Still. Impressive, the amount of work.

_ The smell could be better, _ Dean decided, with a wrinkled nose. Mountain dew, week old undies, and a foot fungus infection was not a kind smell. Dean had, still, smelled worse. 

Yes, yes he did have nightmares about that.

The man in front of them was large, near frantic, and sweaty - but he was right. There was something in town, hunting the humans and destroying lives, he was just completely wrong about the how, the why, and the entire... what.

“Man-droid?” Sam asked, with a raised brow, his notebook laying open and blank.

Dean had to hold in his laughter. The man looked so sincere, bright eyed and vibrating with energy, it was hard not to allow that to suffuse his being. Ever since that little girl at the circus, he’d found himself more and more susceptible to the emotions of people around him. Especially children, but he was beginning to think it was more the childishness behind the emotion. He considered calling Tanner and asking him about it but decided against it because it wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t. 

There was a smell that came then, sharp, and poignant, like a piano note in the air. Dean subtly sniffed, trying to understand it. It was a new smell, enough so that Dean had to take a moment to try and figure it out.

“And what makes you so sure about this, Ronald?” Sam asked, seeing Dean’s distraction and covering.

Ronald gave the most sincere, excited smile Dean had ever seen. And that's when Dean realized it was the smell of fanatic glee. He'd never encountered a cult as a familiar, but he had encountered crazies. He realized that this was right about the same smell as he would imagine they smelled of. A little sweeter. A little harmless. 

Then, the man was gone, beckoning them forward to follow. “Come on, come see this!”

It took him a moment to get together the tv and the VHS tape, which gave Dean and Sam a moment to chat via look.

Sam raised a brow and turned sharply to Dean. _ ‘What the hell was that?’ _

Dean shrugged, scuffed his nose, and then glared. ‘ _ Nothing, tell you later, control yourself man,’ _

Sam huffed, silently, before looking to Ronald’s back and then back to Dean. _ ‘And what was that then?’ _

Dean hunched his shoulders and then stopped looking.  _ ‘Drop it,’ _

They didn’t need a telepathic bond, thought it did help. Dean caught a gander at the title of the VHS that Ronald was putting into the VHS device. “M.N.T. Camera 4 - JUAN”. He had proof? Dean’s heart raced as he imagined all the worst. It couldn’t be that bad, since the police had turned him away, but it was enough... wasn’t it?

“See,” Ronald said, as he started the tape and rewinded. “ I made copies of all the security tapes. I knew once the cops got them they'd be buried,”

He looked at Dean then, and Dean nodded in solidarity. It bolstered the man up, which was not exactly Dean’s intentions but eh, whatever. 

”Here,” And then the video was playing.

On the screen it showed a man. It was Juan, walking through the store.  “Now watch. Watch. Watch him, watch, watch! See, look! Th-, th-, there it is!” They didn’t have to wait long because suddenly he turned. His eyes caught the camera just right, wide open and without a doubt supernatural, as they glowed. Like Dean’s sometime did in the right light.

_ Well, shit.  _

This time the glance Sam and Dean shared was enough.

“You see!” Ronald crowed, pausing the tape as he turned to the brothers. “He’s got the laser eyes!”

“I see,”

Oh did they ever.

“The cops said it was some kind reflected light. Some kind of-of “He waved his hands around his head. “Some kind of ‘camera flare’! Okay?”

Usual cop response. Supernatural things couldn’t just be arrested. Dean wasn’t surprised.

“Okay? Ain't no damn camera flare.” He was shaking now and Dean nearly walked forward to try and calm him, he was getting so worked up. “They - They say I'm a post-trauma case. So what? Bank goes and fires me, it don't matter!”

Dean winced. Yeah. That always sucked. Knowing the truth. Knowing it deep in your bones and nobody believing you. It sent all types of people to the loony bin. All in all Ronald was handling it pretty well. Could be handling it better, of course, but when faced with the supernatural, the lack of your own understanding - it was to be expected.

Sam eyed him with the kind of cautiousness that Dean had become used to acknowledging as ‘dangerous’. 

“The Mandroid is, is still out there,” Ronald stated, firmly, with only the slightest bit of wildness in his eyes. Or perhaps that was just how much he was sweating. “The law won't hunt this thing down -- I'll do it myself.” 

Admirable. Truly, Dean was starting to like this guy. 

“You see, this thing, it, it, it kills the real person, makes it look like a suicide, then it sorta, like, morphs into that person,” Sam shifted, uncomfortable how close this guy was getting. Dean watched him out of the corner of his eye. “Cases the job for a while until it knows the take is fat, and then it finds its opening. Now, these robberies, they're, they're grouped together.”

Here he pointed at his maps, dragging them all around as he pointed out things.

“So I figure the Mandroid is holed up somewhere in the middle, underground, maybe. I dunno, maybe that's where it recharges its, uh, Mandroid batteries,”

He stared at the map, like he had all of the information memorized. But he was staring intently, as if he still was working on a problem, half out of it, needing sleep.

Sleep, he desperately needed, Dean thought to himself as he watched the man startle. 

This time, the look Sam shares with Dean doesn’t make him feel all that good. He nods at him, lifts his lips in a smile that quickly downturns, before turning towards the man who believed mandroids were the worst thing the world could come up with.

“Okay. I want you to listen very carefully,” Sam began, and Dean know it. He knoww it in his bones.

Sam’s about to lie to this man.

But see, that’s the problem. Perhaps, a year ago, he wouldn’t have known that. For all his knowledge of his brother, the inner workings of his mind were truly enigmatic at times. It would be logical to work with this man, who already has a sort of drive to find this monster, but Sam would see it differently. Dean’s not sure how he sees this situation, but he knows Sam isn’t seeing it clearly. Frantic energy was better than negative energy. And if Sam shut this man down now, then years down the road, if he ever figured out what really went bump in the night, would set him on a path truly irredeemable.

So. Dean stepped in.

“Sam, I swear if the next words out of your mouth are a lie to this man,” Dean stated, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Then I’m gonna punch you,”

Ronald blinked, dumbly at him.

Sam threw his arms down, onto his hips and turned to look at him with a ‘what the absolute hell are you on about’ look. “ _ Dean _ ,” Sam hissed at him. Looking quickly between the two of them, Ronald and Dean.

“I won’t hold back,” Dean added. “You know I won’t.”

Sam’s mouth dropped.

“Dean, this isn’t the time to - “

“Tell the truth?” Dean asked, unphased by his brother’s little temper tantrum. 

_ Only he was. He really, really was.  _ Just another thing that Dean was beginning to realize was Sam’s complete, absolute control of him. The weeks away hadn’t helped any. Not really. Just made Dean realize that this was one of the give and takes of the world.

Dammit, he knew he should have taken the reins on this one. It just had seemed more Sam’s scene. Robberies. It was just so... upper-middle class. Easier to let Stanford-Sam deal with it. But Dean knew that was wrong now. Sam was as in control of this situation as he was in control of Dean:

That is to say, not at all. 

_ (liar, liar, his conscious whispered) _

“You believe me...” Ronald said, staring at Dean in awe and hero-worship and everything Dean doesn’t actually want.

“I more than believe you, Ronald,” Dean said.

Sam made a wounded kind of sound, but Ronald ignored him.

“Listen here, buddy,” Dean said, flipping back his jacket flats and unbuttoning. “Because I like you, really I do, but this thing is not a ‘mandroid’. Though,” He sends him a meaningful wink and a bright smile, shaking his head ruefully. “Damn, wouldn’t that be cool?”

Ronald was shaking a little as he sat down.

“But it all fits - “

“Things a shapeshifter, like you said,” Dean made sure to give it all back to him. Ronalda really did do a bang up job on the research, “Preys on these people, like you said. Kills them, cases a place, and then uses their faces to rob em blind, like you said - but the ‘mandroid’, completely wrong.” Dean made cutting motion through the air as he spoke. “You did good work here, Ronald, but it’s not a mandroid,”

Dean knows he made the right choice when Ronald nods with him, eyes bright as his breath catches in his throat.

“If it’s, uhm, not a mandroid, then what is it?”

Dean smiled, but he didn’t quite feel the same elation as usual. He was about to absolutely destroy Ronalds life.

The only consolation he had? 

The shapeshifter had started it.

Dean began explaining. 

“It’s a Shapeshifter. Steals a person's face, it’s identity, and then runs off to become a new person.”

“How though?” Ronald asked, breathless, leaning forward like Dean had all the answers in the universe. 

“Shed’s its skin,” Sam said, finally sitting down with Dean on the couch. “Finding the skin is about as fun as you’d think, and completely gross, by the way. We think it takes on the DNA of its host-skin, or its victim. Not sure how, nobodies really done studies, ya know?”

Ronalda nodded, frantically. “Sure, sure, of course, of course,”

Then he asked the million dollar question.

“So what do we do?”

“We,” Sam said, gesturing to Dean and himself. “Have got it covered.”

Ronalds face fell. “But - I did all this research, I - I - but I found it!”

Dean hit Sam in the chest before he started talking again. “Sam, shut up, woudya,”

He held up his hands defensively before settling back into the couch, well aware he’d lost a hold of the situation. Dean turned to Ronald then. Who was looking at him with pleading eyes, a little watery, and Dean agreed wholeheartedly that he shouldn’t come anywhere near a hunt.

“Listen, Ron. Can I call you Ron?” Dean began and watched his face fall, even though he nodded.. “Alright, Ron, we’re hunters. This is what we do. We find the monsters. We hunt the monsters. We kill the monsters. We’ve been doing this since you were probably behind the bleachers at your school, hiding your smokes from the teachers,” Ronald flushed that. “You’re, no offense meant here Ron, a complete newbie, and you’d put us in a lot of danger if we brought you with us to track this shapeshifter to its newest form,”

He bit his lip, staring at Dean, but Ronald just shook his head. Dean thought he needed more convincing, but he was just getting it out of his system. “Alright. I understand... but first... You've got to answer some questions for me...”

Oh that was easy sauce!

“Shoot.”

“What’s a Hunter?”

He had a hundred and one questions. Dean had a hundred and one answers. 

Sam would pipe in every now and then, but otherwise he just sat there with a grim look on his face, not happy at all. Dean didn’t give a single flying fart.

“Dean, we gotta go,” Sam finally said, after almost an hour. He added, pointing it at Ronald this time. “Innocent people could be in danger right now,”

Ronald nodded, seriously, miming zipping his lips.

“Alright then,” Dean said, with a bright smile as he slapped his legs, getting up. “Then let’s get to it. You’re gonna be alright, Ron? You got my number?”

Ronald smiled so bright then. Tearing up. Dean saw where this was going before Sam did, so he wasn’t surprised when Ronald embraced him in a big old, sweaty hug as soon as they were both upright and not in an awkward sitting-standing-hug. At least Ronald knew not to do that to a new-friend.

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Ronald whispered.

“Hey, you deserved the truth,” Dean said, meaningful, staring at Sam over his head. “Everyone deserves the truth,”

_ (Liar, liar, liar) _

* * *

Sam was quiet as the night. The only sound in the car as they drove it back to the motel. They desperately needed sleep. Except it wasn’t about to come that easily. They arrived at the motel, kicked off their shoes in the entrance of the dining area, and Sam went to read in the corner while Dean sharpened his blades.

When Sam slammed his book down, Dean knew it was time to talk.

“Explain it to me, Dean,” 

Dean frowned, in contemplation. “What’s there to explain?”

“How about why you didn’t let me lie to Ron? Why you told some guy who was so sure the monster he was going to hunt down was a ‘mandroid’ was actually way worse?”

“Because, Sam,” Dean said, with a snort, not even looking away from his blades.”It would have been cruel,”

“Cruel?” Sam demanded. “This from the guy who once lied to a little girl about tooth fairies being fake after she had been kidnapped by one?”

Dean snapped his head to glare to him. 

“That was different. She was a kid. Ronald is a grown ass man who can make up his own mind,”

“You’ve never stopped me before,” Sam accused.

Dean just shook his head, absently before putting his blade down. “I’ve never had a reason to stop you before. I trust when you make your judgement calls, just like you should trust me,”

Sam deflated a little at that, but he was still a little peeved. Dean got it, too. If Sam had come busting in on him lying to someone, making him the bad guy, he’d be a little pissed too. But Dean had a leg up on the competition now. His nose, his ears, his whole being was an entire powerup, tuned to the smallest of signals.

“He wasn’t going to stop, Sam,” Dean finally said. Chewing over how he should word it. “I could... I could smell how fantastical he was. Man could go join a cult within the next hour and I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

Dean frowned down at his hands. “I could... I could smell the desperation for someone to believe him, because that’s all he had. The truth. He lost his job. He lost his friend. And the truth was getting him laughed out of bars, and his job, and - “

“Dean...”

“He was going to do something to make people believe, Sam,” Dean finally said, biting his lip, as he looked up at Sam. “It wasn’t going to be a good something, either,”

His brother nodded then, looking away and back at his books. 

* * *

The next day, they found the shifter. The fight was short, and brief, because they were prepared. Ronald stayed at home and they came to him directly afterwards to show him the body they’d bundled up in the back of the Impala. They salted and burned the carcass together, teaching Ronald how to, before Sam and Dean were invited to dinner at the little restaurant that Ronalds sister’s husband’s brother-in-law owned. It was an offer Dean refused to refuse.

Then, they exchanged phone numbers made sure Ronald knew how to get ahold of Bobby and the Roadhouse, and went on their merry way.

Sam still ultimately unhappy with how it all went down, but glad everyone managed to make it out alive.

Dean knowing something was avoided, just unsure, exactly, the scale of it all, lets it lie.

* * *

Miles and miles away, Agent Victor Henriksen scratched his head, baffled how he couldn’t find two brothers, even with proof that one of them had faked his death. With such a notable ride like an Impala 67, how was it, that they kept avoiding him?

* * *

Being with Sam was great, but it brought into stark relief just how much had changed.

After spending time with Irene and being dognapped by Gordon, Dean was forced to confront everything that had happened. Sam was the same. A little more weary of Dean, perhaps, not as trusting and a little jumpy - but he was the same. He read his books (they’d finally gone back to Bobby’s and gotten the familiar tombs), he researched on his laptop, ate his stupid salads, went to sleep as early as he was able when they were not on a case. He was... stable.

Dean felt as if he was an entirely new person. 

Irene had taught him how to control some of his senses, ‘dial’ them up and down, keep the headaches he hadn’t even noticed from getting worse. Almost like a single-minded view of one sense at a time.

Gordon had taught him that he was weak. That people could keep him a dog, or a person at their leisure. 

Irene had taught him that being a dog was easy, it came without labels and without words and often without defending yourself. It came like a breeze did. An easy knowledge.

Gordon taught him to fear. People, hunters, and everything in between had become more than a threat. And it wasn’t the usual fear. The ‘I might die’ fear, but the fear of having no control, having that absolute control of your body and putting it into someone else’s hands. Unreliable, stupid, borish hands.

Together, Dean was at a conflicting crossroad of understanding himself and being worried for the future.

Much more worried than he had been at the beginning. Much more afraid. Now that he had been confronted with his own morality, his own weakness, not just a words over a phone by a man he had met once, or by a now dead human that had the potential to control him.

Sam doesn’t get it when Dean tries not to curl up next to him as often. Sam doesn’t understand when Dean forces himself to drink beer, enough that he will be able to handle it later. Sam just doesn't get it, but he watches and he knows something has changed.

Dean tried to gain back his independence after being so focused on other people, but it’s hard. Dean knows he can’t go far, can’t leave Sam for long - because he’s tied to Sam, for better or worse, to recharge him if nothing else. Sam’s also his brother, they’re family, all they have left in the world is each other. Dean’s tied to Sam in more ways than Dean’s tied to anything, anyone else. 

It’s impossible for the resentment building in Dean’s chest to NOT explode - but he’s keeping it on a tight leash.

The first time he goes off to see how long it takes for their bond to sap him of strength, of his humanity, it goes about how he expects.

Dean can almost count, to the hour, of when he begins to feel decidedly uncomfortable (it’s six hours). The world is... off. Like everything in it had shifted just right a few degrees. The colors of the world dulled. There is a dull ache behind his eyes.

Dean knows the hour it starts. 

It’s the 12th hour that's the kicker.

That’s when the tiring of his limbs, the numbness sets in. He almost throws up the sip of his beer and that’s when he  **knows** that something is really wrong. His sense of smell and taste are wonky, going in and out like the zoom function of a camera. Dean’s stubborn though, and he grits his teeth and bares it. It comes on more suddenly than it had before when he had walked away from Sam as a dog and didn’t look back. Waited until it gets to be not just numb, but also weak. He’s weaker. The itching from those first few months comes back, and Dean knows he can’t hold out any longer.

Sam expects to find a chipper Dean coming back, but to both of their consternation - because he doesn’t understand why Dean was gone in the first place - Dean’s grumbly and angry and snappy. He turns doggie and doesn’t even try to acknowledge anything else as he curls up next to Sam and his laptop. Doesn’t respond, mentally or otherwise, to Sam’s questions.

Soon, Sam drops it, but Dean can smell the confusion, the uncertainty. Yet, Sam leaves it.

Maybe he’s just getting better at putting up a wall and Sam respecting said wall.

Dean’s never been so grateful. Which just pisses him off more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI everyone! Man I can't believe a month has already passed... that's insane. But at least I got this next chapter out! :D  
> As always, reviews feed me, and my typing-fingers.


	16. Do you believe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel is telling people to kill. Dean calls bullshit while Sam admits something rather shocking to his brother.   
> Dean's not doing so hot, and convincing Sam that he's fine is surprisingly... Easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnddd had to get one in before new years!

 

**** :I _ hate you,: _ Dean said as another senile, certifiable crazy person pet him right between the ears a little more firmly than was necessary. The guy had frail, wimpy hands, though, so it was whatever. No harm, no foul. He moved like molasses, too, so Dean had gotten pretty early warning of the pet. Though the next one to pull his tail was getting nipped. Dean never broke skin, but he certainly frightened off his fair share of grabby-hands.

Sam, as per the usual, didn’t answer and instead snagged a clipboard off the wall. Blending in was important. Dean was about to snarl at him again for daring to leave him when Sam patted his thigh, a signal for Dean to ‘heel’ as the books and VCR tapes had told them. No hesitation, Dean obeyed; sidling up to him and away from the grabby-hands.

Dean also knew ‘sit’, ‘go’, ‘spot’, ‘lay down’, ‘play dead’, and ‘intimidate’. Embarrassingly, he now had an almost instinctive response to all the words with how often they had practiced. Sam had beamed at him the first time he had sat on command without bacon bits involved (Sam’s idea so that if people saw them practicing it wouldn’t be weird). Dean had run off and hid in the park for almost an hour trying to deprogram himself. Without success.

Gordon’s smile had haunted him for weeks after.

Trotting next to Sam, with his freakishly long legs, Dean shook, trying to right his fur. It felt all matted and warm under the weight of the vest that proclaimed him as a ‘EMOTIONAL SERVICE ANIMAL - PLEASE PET'.

_ :Where the hell did you even get a service animal vest?: _

“You don’t want to know,” Was all Sam said, out the side of his mouth.

_ :Uhm. I think I most certainly do - hey! Hey, just tell me you didn’t get it off a homeless guy!: _

No response, but a quirking of lips.

_ :Sam. Sam!: _

“Cool your jets, Dean,” Sam finally responded. “I got it out of a catalog.”

Dean immediately relaxed. Sam was just yanking his tail. 

_ :You could've just said ... tha...: _

That’s when the smell interrupted his train of thought. It was sharp, far sharper than most human emotion-scents were. Sadness was tangy. Anger was kind of like mud. Excitement was like a blend of arousal and happiness (a light pleasant smell with no other earthly like) But this... this was lightening. Damn near magical with it’s sizzle on his nostrils. Dean’s head snapped towards the source without a second thought.

“Dean?” Sam recognized when something had completely derailed him.

_ :Come on,: _

And then Dean was the one leading as Sam was forced to catch up.

“Hey! Dean!” Sam hiss-whisper-shouted.

But Dean wasn’t listening. The smell was pleasant, and interesting and it was piggy backing on a scent that Dean knew well: Fervent, unequal devotion. Cult like in its devotion, it’s single mindedness. Yet, this was twisted and Dean was starting to realize there was another smell twisted inside of it. Pleasant, oh so pleasant. He’d never smelled anything like it.

Heartbeats were the main way Dean knew someone was lying, but sometimes their smell gave them away as a liar, too. Truth smelled like almost nothing, unless it was within another smell, then it smelled like lilacs. But lies smelled bitter, and nasty. Sweaty and human.

Lightening and lilacs was an interesting smell. Like a lightning storm over a pond, or a meadow.

And Dean had no way to word any of this to Sam.

_ :Just follow me,: _

And that’s how they found Gloria Sitnick. The one touched by an angel. She was an easy lady to talk to. But she was also off her rocker. Nice, but completely on drugs to mellow her out. Sam talked to her, Dean listened; and nothing new was really revealed. Not even that she believed the angel with her whole heart.

Afterwards, as they were walking away, ditching the outfits in the duffle bag they brought, Sam asked.

“So, what was that about?”

_ :What was what about?: _

“You, like, locked onto Gloria like a heat seeking missile,” Sam whispered, dodging another orderly as they finally exited the building. “You do that a lot, but you usually explain afterwards why - or I can guess. This time, not so much,”

_ :I’m not so sure I can explain,: _

“Well, I’m all ears.”

Dean snorted, before grinning up at Sam. 

_ :You know how cult-devotion has a smell?” _

“Yes.”

_ :And you know how I can tell when someone is lying?” _

“Usually involves a heartbeat, right?”

_ :More often, than not. Yeah,: _

Sam hesitated then.

“Wait. That’s new. Why’s that new?”

_ :Not new, just... not easy to explain,: _

They reached the car then. Sam opening the door, and Dean daintily dodging into the passenger seat, making sure he kept his claws carefully off the leather, or at least, away enough that it wouldn’t scuff. Sam followed into the driver's seat, before turning to Dean.

Sam just raised a single eyebrow. Waiting.

_ :There is a smell that people smell like when they are being truthful. There is also a smell for a lie. It’s not, well, it’s not as black and white as that, but I can manage to figure it out after a lot of trial and error, alright?: _

“I’m with you.”

_ :And there is a smell for a cult like mindset, or... or a devotion, whatever you wanna call it,:  _ Dean tucked his tail around himself then, laying down with his muzzle on the center console.  _ :Gloria in there smelled like truth and like she was the leading fanclub member for the angel choir.: _

“And how is this any different than, say, a priest?”

Dean snorted. _ :How is it anything like it?: _

Sam smelled surprised then. “Explain?”

_ :People in churches smell like... well, people. Alright, sometimes they have a smell like they are worshiping, or actively worshiping, but there are very few that smell like they did it every second, of every day, enough that they, along with all their possessions, smell like it,: _

“Are you trying to tell me... you can smell belief?”

Sam certainly didn’t smell like he believed anything. 

_ :I told you, it’s not black and white,: _ Dean defended himself, defensively.  _ :I’m just telling you what I know,: _

“And what is that?”

_ :That Gloria in there... she believes every word out of her mouth. And she stinks because of it,: _

Sam sighed. It made Dean pause as Sam started the car. Something was off. 

_ :Hey, what’s that response about?: _

“Nothing, Dean,” Sam said, which was clearly something. 

_ :No, this is something.: _ Dean pawed at his arm. Well aware that this was a busy street and anyone could be watching. _:What’s up?:_

“Just. Forget it Dean, it’s nothing,”

Dean let it sit for the entire ride, but as soon as they had stopped,  as soon as they were in the motel, Dean metaphorically pounced.

“Alright,” He said, with a human mouth, and a human hand on his brother’s chest to stop him. “Talk.”

Sam did that stupid big-breathing-in-and-letting-it-out thing that he did. His eyes cast away from Dean.  Dean frowned right back at him. He smelled normal, sounded normal, but there was just something there. A lingering... acidic, ozone flavor. Dean knew what this smell was. Knew he had smelled it around Sam, but it had never clicked before, until this moment.

“Can you smell it on me?” Sam finally asked.

Sam believed.

* * *

For a moment, both of them were still.

Dean blinked at Sam. Then blinked again. It didn’t make sense.

“What?”

His brother hunched his shoulders up to his ears, but he wasn’t ashamed. Just. Embarrassed to tell the truth.

“I pray. I’ve prayed every night since I could remember,”

“That’s what you do when you go silent for a few minutes every night?” Dean demanded, surprised in spite of himself.

Sam didn’t know why he was surprised by the things Dean remembered and noticed now a days - his ears and eyesight were no joke. He literally had no privacy and being reminded of that made him wrinkle his nose. 

“What did you think I was doing?”

Dean closed his mouth. “I... I don’t know. Thinking about masterbating?”

Sam shot him a disgusted look.

“Ew, Dean,” 

“Hey!” He held up his hands in front of himself. “I just mean I am intimately aware that you haven’t, in a few months, and -”

“Stop! Stop stop stop!” Sam covered his ears. “Just stop!”

Dean smirked to himself. Smug to know he still had it. Sam huffed, shoulders up to his ears as he blushed and glared at Dean.

“That’s not the point, Dean,” Sam said, trying to regain some semblance of control. “The point is - what if this is an angel? A real one?”

After werewolves, and vampires, and ghosts, and demons, and grave digging, and sacrifice, and blood and death - Dean shouldn’t be surprised by what Sam believed in. There was just something... wrong about it all. Angels were of God. And if Sam believed in Angels, then he believed in God. And if he believed in God, then he believed in a purpose, and if he believed in a purpose...

Dean felt, suddenly, alone.

“It’s not an angel. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not an angel,” Dean pulled himself up to his absolute fullest height. “This is a creature, who is killing people. Humans. This is what we do, Sam. We hunt monster and we kill them. Just because it’s masquerading as an angel should mean jack shit. We’re going to find out what it is before you go all... all catholic school girl on me!” 

Sam opened his mouth to respond but Dean honest-to-go snarled at him.

“Damnit, Sammy. No!” His brother fell silent. Hoping that would be the end of that, Dean took a deep breath and  asked. “Now, what else do we know?”

Sam was a little shocked and hurt by what Dean had said, but he knew they had to look into everything. And he wasn’t sure how else to end this conversation peacefully. So they didn’t. In an absolutely normal, but not their normal anymore, way they dropped it.

* * *

Sam took all Dean said with careful measure, before he started researching.

One of the few times in the past three months, it isn’t research about familiars.

The motel was quiet and stifling, which prompted Dean to click on the radio. An amusing few moments passed as Hair of the Dog came on. When it was over, Dean turned it down into the absolute most silent background nose. When Sam worked he often got into a zone that wasn’t unlike a meditative trance. His heart rate decreased, his breathed leveled into an almost automated robotic tone; it was soothing. As soothing as Dean could handle anyway. Dean could only assume the same for Sam, as he looked so tranquil and peaceful. 

It was in the moments like this, the silence of their dinky motel, Dean on the bed, and Sam at the table that Dean realized that their lives weren’t all that bad. That they could be worse. Had been worse. That silence wasn’t just the waiting for something to happen, but a reprieve.

Sure, Sam wasn’t some successful lawyer, with a wife and two kids and a picket white fence - but at least he wasn’t living a lie.

And sure, Dean was a dog, with not a whole lot of prospects outside of living his life in Sam’s pockets - but at least he wasn’t snatched up by a witch. He had his brother. He had his family. He got to hunt, he got to roam the country, and he got to eat his fill of junk food. Yes, no beer, but there was more to life than beer.

It wasn’t perfect, but Dean was aware that nothing would ever be perfect.

That’s what curses did.

What did it matter that Sam believed in angels and god? It didn’t change his work ethic, or his heart, or the way he would laugh at a stupid joke, or the brilliant light in his eyes when he learned something new. It changed nothing. Dean decided as he watched Sam pull back from his research, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

Sam leaned back, stretching his back and Dean heard every single little pop has his vertebrae realigned. Dean allowed himself to perk up, head and ears in sync as he looked over as Sam’s body left it’s meditative state, as Sam looked over at him.

: _ Anything _ ?: Dean asked, stretching his paws out, his own toes popping. Sam gave him a strange soft look like he did when he was looking at kittens and puppies, and Dean cocked his head.

_ :What?: _

Sam just shook his head, blushing a little as he looked away, aligning his papers. “Uh, nothing.”

Dean was a little put off by that, but he mentally shrugged. 

Sam was weird. He believed in Angels after all.

_ :Whatever,: _

A year ago, he would have been pacing, uncomfortable sitting still, but Sam had been researching for at least two hours - and Dean didn’t feel the need to do something but veg. In fact, when he was a dog, everything just washed out to  **simple** . Simple wants, needs, and actions. He didn’t have to question what to use his hands for, or what he needed to listen to (everything was a symphony if he just listened), or even what he had to do. Sitting, relaxing, was an acceptable thing.

His week with Irene had... really mellowed him out. There wasn't a lot to do on a farm. And what there was, was physical and easy. Well, physical things were hard, but it was simple-hard. No thought to it. And of course, when her grand daughter had visited, he was worn out playing house and any number of kiddie games. It had been easy, but physically exhausting existence. 

He tensed.

And his sparse few hours with Gordon had almost destroyed that progress. 

_ :So you found nothing or you being weird is nothing?: _

Sam frowned in concentration. 

“I found a lot of lore on angels. And not just in the bible. There are tons of resources online,” Sam scratched his head. Getting into the explanation. Dean settled back down, head pillowed on his bony legs. “A lot of it is biblically biased, of course, but I mean - Dean,” 

He looked at his brother. “There have been sightings of angels for as long as the earth has been around. There’s a lot more evidence for angels than vampires, that’s for sure,”

_ :Never seen one, never smelt one. Means they don’t exist, Sam,: _ Dean sighed. _ :But  _ **_whatever_ ** _ \- you find a way to stop whatever this is?: _

Sam smirked, and shook his head. “Only you would ask how to kill an angel.”

_ :What? Can angels do no wrong?: _ Dean asked, rolling his eyes.  _ :I mean, even biblically, I’d be scared shitless to meet an angel in real life. Those bible guys - they were scared of them. Even the nice ones,: _

Sam shook his head again, in a no, “It’s not that. As far as I can tell, angels are one - if not  **the** \- most powerful creatures in this world.”

Dean thought that was stupid, but he had already told Sam his thoughts, so he just stayed quiet.

Sam took the hint and narrowed his eyes at Dean. 

“Fine, what do you suggest?”

Dean perked up and barred his teeth in a smile.

_ :I say we go check out Gloria’s and Gully’s places.: _

They find everything. Every sordid detail of everyone. Gloria was normal up until seeing the light; Gloria’s victim on the other hand was a fucked up murderer who buried his kills under his cellar. True, there were no more victims because Glorias righteous hand had ended him, but it didn’t make it any easier to see the skeletons in the bottom of the hole. Sam had looked sick and smug at Dean at that, but Dean had just clenched his jaw and continued on. 

Both were unsure how to feel about the next murder that popped up, same MO as Gloria. Crazy who believed an angel told them to do it. Except that further insight was needed. The church, with its smell of fervent prayer and sweaty homeless people, the Father of the church, and the very dead lingering spirit of the late Father Gregory. It was Dean’s turn be smug.

“It doesn’t mean it can’t be an angel,” Sam grumbled under his breath.

“Sure sure,” Dean said, as they walked further into the crypt. He smelled the worm wood which confirms every single thought in Dean’s head. Which is when the angel bitch struck. 

* * *

Dean decides as he’s watching Sam get over his come to angel moment, that it’s kind of like when Sam went ‘vision’. He heard Sam’s heartbeat thunder, like he was being attacked, yet there was no other sound. In fact, it had been eerily quiet. Sam’s breath had caught. The world went kind of heavy, like he couldn’t breath, and then the world righted itself.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, trying to shake the image of Sam so open and defenseless from his mind. “You alright?”

Sam looked at him with big, dumb concussed eyes.

“Uhm, yeah? I think - yeah.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t - uhm,” 

He just seemed so lost.

“Come on,” Dean helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you out of here,”

Out in the fresh air, Sam spilled his guts. 

“So. An angel, huh?”

Sam just nodded.

“What makes you think you saw a, uh, angel?” The thought makes Dean uncomfortable.

“It just, it appeared before me and I just, this feeling washed over me, you know? Like, like peace. Like grace.”

Dean did not know thank you very much. In fact, everything didn’t make a lick of sense. Sam’s gotten better at looking at Dean and just... knowing. Maybe it’s the bond. Maybe it’s how close they’ve become, but Sam became defensive.

“Dean, I'm serious. It spoke to me, it knew who I was,”

“It's just a spirit, Sam. Okay? And it's not the first one to be able to read people's minds,” And it wasn’t. But Sam was now on this monster’s radar. “Okay, let me guess. You were personally chosen to smite some sinner. You've just got to wait for some divine bat signal, is that it?”

Sam was all peace and flow. “Yeah, actually.” 

“Great. Wonderfull,” Dean shook his head. “I don't suppose you asked what this alleged bad guy did?”

And Sam had another answer.

“Actually I did, Dean. And the angel told me. He hasn't done anything. Yet. But he will.” 

Dean felt his mouth drop. Sam was... He was being honest. He had that smell, too.

“Okay, Sam, this is - “ 

Well. Fuck.

“This is unbelievable.”

The smell coming off Sam was... nauseating. 

“Dean, the angel hasn't been wrong yet! Someone's going to do something awful, and I can stop it!” And there was that fervent devotion again. As if everything they had been through... everything they had seen and done was nothing. All because of a vision of an angel.

“You know, you're supposed to be bad too,” Dean said. Not feeling it. He was a familiar, after all. He was just as evil. Perhaps worse... “I’m supposed to be bad. Shouldn’t we be targets?”

Sam looked hurt. “It’s not like that! Why can’t you just take this for the sign it is!”

“What, that this is an angel? An honest to god angel?” Dean said, in a snarl.

“Yes!” Sam snarled right back. “Maybe we're hunting an angel here, and we should stop! Maybe this is God's will!”

“Okay, all right. You know what? I get it. You've got faith. That's — hey, good for you. I'm sure it makes things easier.” 

Dean remembered when he had been healed - the healing that happened, but at the cost that was nowhere near free. He felt exhausted. Like everything was weighing him down. He sat heavily. Then he remembered not himself, but their mother. How every night she would tuck him in, smile at him with Sam’s smile, and tell him angels were watching over him. His throat closed up, remembering the still stinging betrayal of a faith crushed too young.

Sam stared at him, wide eyed.

Oh. It seems he had said that outloud.

“You never told me that.”

Dean felt himself deflate further. 

“What would I have said? She was wrong. There was nothing there to protect her or us. No higher power. No God.” Dean felt his skin stand on end. He refused to read any further into that. “I mean, there's just chaos, and violence, and random unpredictable evil th, that comes out of nowhere, and rips you to shreds. You want me to believe in this stuff? I'm going to need to see some hard proof. You got any?”

Sam straightened up and squared his jaw.

“No. But I don’t need any,”

Dean could be just as stubborn, but he knew he was right.

“Yeah, well the wormwood tells a different story.”

The look on Sam’s face as he looked at the weed growing over the grave, curling and reaching for a sun that was well hidden in the crypt, was not a pleasant thing. It was bereft and shocked, and denial was laced through his face and his scent. Dean ignored it like he ignored all of Sam’s other tantrums. It was senseless to argue over facts.

“Let’s go,” Sam said, frowning deeply.

Back at the motel, Sam was quiet in thought. He smelled the same - denial, shock, but mellowing out to an argument. Conflict. Dean left him to it, and switched out his weapon on his hip for something with more kick against a ghost. Sam was sitting at the counter, right where he left him, when he turned back.

There was only one thing Dean could ask.

“You hungry?”

Sam looked at him then. Looked at him with suspicion.

“Yeah. Yeah I could eat.”

* * *

After they grabbed burgers, they ended up back by the church. Dean had his face full when Sam finally spoke, his conflicting emotions pouring out.

“Let’s do a séance,”

Dean looked at him, face stuffed and managed to raise his brow in enough of an invitation to talk more - that Sam did.

“If it’s a ghost, or a vengeful spirit, the séance will draw it out.”

Swallowing, Dean asked. “And if it doesn’t come, we know it’s an angel, huh?”

It’s stupid, but occasionally Sam argues with Dean’s nose because he can’t stand being wrong. Or because he’s pissed at Dean. Or really any number of things. Or because he needs the normal way they do things without Dean’s new normal staining it all. It rarely works out that way.

Dean can’t wait for the day that that doesn’t matter. When Sam trusts him completely.

But that day is far off. Especially since the truth of what dad had thought came out...

“Alright,” Dean conceded. “Let’s go.”

An hour later, Sam smelled amused and dusty, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh as his brother mocked him. They were about a block away from the church, with Sam’s arms full.

“Dude. I'll admit we've gone pretty ghetto with spellwork before, but this takes the cake.” He shook his head. “I mean, a Spongebob placemat instead of an altar cloth?”

“It’ll get the job done,” Dean said, not even defending himself.

Sam just shook his head as they walked. As they reached the step, Sam stiffened. Dean didn’t pay him any mind, not really. At least, not until the wind changed and he realized Sam smelled distinctly like belief and anger. He whirled around to see Sam staring across the street.

“That’s him, Dean,” Sam said. “That’s the guy,”

Dean narrowed his eyes as he saw the man in question. He looked like a normal guy. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, a relatively structured jaw. He was carrying flowers and a paper bag full of groceries. He looked completely uninterested in what he was doing, where he was going. He was too far away to smell, but Dean was ultimately unimpressed.

This guy was evil?

Whatever. It took all sorts.

They were close enough to the church that it didn’t take Dean more than a second to make up his mind. What he was going to do. The only thing left to do was actually do it.  For Sam being the ‘stronger one of the two of them - it's surprisingly easy to shove him in the church and close the door. Not lock, he’s on the other side.

“Dean?”

Dean grabbed a lawn chair and wedged it under the handle. This was for Sam’s own good.

“Listen Sam you aren't killing anyone tonight not on god's say so,” He shook his head at the angry growl on the other end of the door. “Not on an angels say so. Not even on my say so.”

“Dean!” Sam shouted, and Dean felt the tingling need to obey which he promptly ignored. “You don't understand he's going to do something horrible!”

“And I'm going to stop him,” Sam smelled a little less fervent, a little more like himself, but he was still frantic behind the door. “But he's human Sam. This is for the law to deal with,”

If he overstepped that one line, what was he supposed to do? Just kill everyone?

“Dean... DEAN?”

But Dean was already walking off.

“Just do the seance, Sam, you’ll see!” 

* * *

It’s a tough call, but Dean hasn’t really chased someone in the Impala in what feels like months. Sure, he enjoys the chase as a dog a little more than he should, but the car is practical. It has the weapons, and the added benefit of Dean not being out of breath when he caught up with his prey. He pulled up short as he dug his keys out of his pocket.

When had he started think of the car as practical rather than a completely necessary part of his life?

It was probably the time he spent away from Sam and his baby. With Irene. When doggie Dean was his entire life. Human a forgotten notion. His feet the only solid thing he could rely on. 

Still. Weird.

He was a little behind the man that Sam had pointed out to him, but his ears were powerful and it didn’t take him long to find him. He hadn’t exactly memorized his heartbeat, but his car was an easy sound to follow. Clunky, not well taken care of, a rattle in the engine that might as well be a death-rattle. He was parked outside some ladies house.

Dean watched from a distance, well aware, that the man still hadn’t done anything wrong.

This isn’t the weirdest thing Dean has done. It’s not. Stalking a man is more socially acceptable than stalking a woman.

Doesn’t stop Dean from feeling like this was stupid.

The lady comes out, and Dean’s heart sinks. 

_ Aw. Fuck no, _ he thinks to himself. Watching as the man led her into the car politely. Then they were off. Dean felt like a stalker as he followed, but he often felt like a creep. This wasn’t any different. Perhaps he would do this more often if he smelled something off on the male-half of a date more often...

If what he was seeing going down right now, happened more he was going to seriously consider becoming a dog-creeper. 

The car drive started out innocently enough. The man drove them downtown, and they chatted. The man was nervous. The woman was also nervous, but elated. She wasn’t feeling the danger. The man was most certainly more nervous about something intangible, a feeling, a smell that Dean wasn’t quite getting since the windows were shut. 

As the night wore on and the car traveled further away from civilization Dean was beginning to feel the danger.

Yet, still, the man hadn’t done anything wrong. Creepy? Yes. Weird? Yes. 

The woman wasn’t picking up on any of those vibes though. She was chatting away, carrying the conversation. Then the man finally stopped the car and Dean parked a few yards away. This was the moment of truth.

“How come we stopped?” The woman asked, her voice still had a little bit of humor in it. Still no threat.

Their hearts thundered, but Dean was beginning to wonder if they were for two entirely different reasons. 

The man leaned over and kissed her. 

“Um, weren't we going to go to the movies? Ah -- We should go, or we're going to be late - ”

If Dean was closer, he would have known what the change in scent signified. But he wasn’t close. So he missed the sharp edge of danger, the flicker of anger and the twist of hate.

Instead, all he saw was the man slap the woman.

“Ahh!”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's just I've never done this before,”

Dean was out of his car in a single moment. His long legs eating up the distance as he walked forward. 

The man was not experienced in what he was doing, but he was convicted. He was hesitant, but he didn’t hesitate after the first time. They struggled, and Dean didn’t see what was happening, happen, but he reached the car before the flash of a knife could do anything.

He cracked the window into tons of tiny pieces and punched the man. His head flew backwards and then Dean snarled, grabbing him and smashed his face into the steering wheel. The man yelped as he was attacked, but it gave the woman the time she needed to get out.

As Dean drew his hand back to attack again, the car jolted under him and flew forward.

_Oh no you don’t!_ Dean thought. As he felt himself flow into doggie-Dean as he kept pace next to the car as it drove forward. The man inside was swerving wildly, out of control, but he kept it going forward. 

Just as he was starting to pick up speed - there was a shattering, screeching, horrible sound. 

The car came to an abrupt halt.

Dean sailed right past, just far enough to pivot around on his haunches and stop dead.

The car was pierced on the driver's side by a long metal pipe. It stuck through the windshield and into the man inside, and into the seat. There was no heartbeat. He was dead.

Feeling completely baffled and a little in awe, Dean stood and stared at the car for a long time.  It smelled of fire, and ozone. A concoction of a storm.  There was a commotion as people came to see what had happened, and Dean realized he couldn’t stay around. He had to go.

He took one last look at the impossible in front of him, before he turned around and booked it to his car.

* * *

He returned to the church to Sam sitting with the priest. They had their heads together and were talking, neither looking particularly pleased. Honestly, they looked more stricken than anything. As if someone had told them santa wasn’t real.

“Hey,” Dean called, hoarsely.

Sam gave the priest one more look, patted him on the shoulder, and got up. He passed by Dean and walked out the door without saying a word. A smell following him. A smell like...

Dean’s head snapped over to follow him and the smell.

Oh no.

That wasn’t a good smell. It wasn’t a pleasant smell. It was acidic, unhappy, and wallowing.

Guilt and despair. Depressing and gunky.

Dean wasn’t sure how to even bring it up to Sam. 

He followed his brother out. Sam didn’t say a word to him, just got in the driver seat and waited. When Dean opened the door and sat, Sam started the car. A clear sign he didn’t want to talk. Which was kind of fine with Dean, he had a lot to think about.

Specifically the pole sticking out of that man’s chest.

* * *

Sam drove, and he carefully didn’t think.

Dean was silent next to him, but Sam was more focused on his own muddled, saddened thoughts. The betrayal of the angel being a vengeful spirit, rather than a real honest angel, was a little much. It had damaged something within Sam that he thought undamageable. 

His unshaking belief in something higher than himself.

Dean was a little more quiet than he was usually. In the car, he usually sang, or talked, or did anything in the middle. But he was silent, too.

No ‘I told you so’s’. No, laughing in his face.

Somber.

Like something had died for him too.

When they got back to the motel, they started packing. The job was done and they needed to get out of town before the priest got his act together and realized Sam had broke into his church. In fact, for the most part, Dean was moving efficiently but quickly. Slow, though. Lost in thought.

Sam sighed. Looks like it was up to him to break this silence. As usual.

“You stop him?”

Dean jolted, as if startled, which was new. Sam very rarely caught him off guard. 

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. He’s dead.” 

Sam was too tired to order that in his head. Dean had left saying he was going to leave this up to the authorities. 

“What happened?”

“It was...” Dean stopped packing to lean on the bed. “Interesting. And you?”

Sam wanted to talk about himself as much as he wanted to swallow a mouthful of wet concrete.

“You were right. It wasn't an angel. It was Gregory.”

Dean plopped onto the bed. 

“Yeah?”

“I don't know, Dean, I just, uh,” He plopped onto the bed next to Dean. Feeling wrung out. Looking at Dean and his inquisitive eyes, cocked head, as if he actually cared. As if he would listen. It was almost foreign, except this foreignness was their new normal.

It all came out. Word vomit.

“I wanted to believe ... so badly,” He ran a hand through his hair, unable to look at Dean any more. “... It's so damn hard to do this, what we do. You're all alone, you know? And ... there's so much evil out there in the world, Dean, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up...“

His head thunked backwards.

_ Then what was the point?  _ He thought to himself.

* * *

Dean felt stretched too thin. This entire thing had been a lot to deal with, but Sam had made it too incredible an opportunity to pass up.  And now, he was faltering.

“I’m watching out for you, Sammy,” Dean said, feeling emotionally vulnerable but pushing through. “And I won’t  **ever** let anything happen to you,”

More than a promise, Dean felt like he couldn’t look away.

“I believe you, Dean,” He sighed. “But you’re just one person, sometimes a dog, too, I know, but... one person, all the same,”

Dean felt a little but of righteous fury well up. Sam would believe in Angels, but not in him? Didn’t he have strength? Didn’t he have far superior senses? Couldn’t he turn into a dog, protect Sam from everything that came their way? Hadn't be been doing that since he was young?

But then Sam continued.

“And I needed to think that there was something else, watching too, you know? Some higher power. Some greater good. And that maybe...”

Dean looked away. He smelled it on Sam, for the first time in a along time.

Despair.

“Maybe what?” 

“Maybe I could be saved.” Sam quickly scoffed, wiped at his eyes and nose, as he dismissed his own thoughts. But his smell was unchanging. Dean could almost hear the unvoiced ‘save you, too.’ “But, uh, you know, that just clouded my judgment, and you're right. I mean, we've gotta go with what we know, with what we can see, with what's right there in front of our own two eyes,”

Did he seriously have so little regard for himself? Dean wondered. Wondering what it would be like to hate yourself so powerfully, your very skin emitted the oder? Had he ever felt that way? Had he ever... felt this kind of despair?

Shame, sure, embarrassment, yes, but... the heaviest sense of foreboding and unconscious self disregard...

It made Dean speak what needed to be spoken... for Sam.

And maybe a little for him too.

“Yeah, well, it's funny you say that,”

Watching Sam physically perk up, his smell nearly mellowing - it gave Dean all the go ahead he needed. 

“Yeah?”

The entire time he explained what had happened to the man he had chased, Sam was staring at him with wide eyes. When he told him how he died... Sam smelled a lot like that fervent belief, happy, and floaty. And it was fucking so much better than the alternative.

Despair over the weight of a belief Dean didn’t share... Couldn’t share...

There was no competition. It didn’t even feel like poison leaving his mouth when he said. “Maybe... God's will,“ 

But Sam’s smile was worth it. His smell evening out, too. 

* * *

Dean decides he’s going to tell Sam about Irene and Gordon as they are researching a hunt in Georgia.

Sam has never really asked about either of them, but Dean thinks, maybe, this time, he should just suck it up and be the first to speak. Sam’s into the whole ‘sharing feelings’ thing, and Dean has to admit it’s not too bad. Especially when it’s not life or death, and they can work through their awkwardness in plenty of time.

Plus, the whole angel thing has really thrown him.

A lot more than any other ghost had.

It was all the little things that Dean was trying to figure out. The smell. The way that guy had die. The way fervent belief still hadn’t washed off Sam yet. They way that priest had looked, gutted and alone. And that stupid painting of Michael that just seemed to taunt him.

“Hey, Sam,”

“Hmmm?” 

Sam’s over a newspaper, intensely concentrated, brow furrowed and his scent neutral.

And suddenly it’s not that easy anymore and his throat closes up around the words. Irene’s smile and Gordon’s heavy handedness all weighing on him like a physical thing. His memories are just that, and he doubts he can put it into words exactly what he needs to. That is Sam’s area of expertise. Dean’s is action, movement. Not truth.

Sam is looking at him and he can’t. He just can’t.

“Hungry?” He said, instead.

Sam cocking his head and then agreeing with a smile, is a relief, because that means Dean’s still got it.

Doesn’t that just make him all warm and fuzzy.


	17. Ride Along Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam is taken for a ride as a Demon-Meat-Suit, Dean has to find a way to save him. Without getting too close, of course, because it's still Sam... and Sam is the only person in the world who can force him to obey. 
> 
> The fine print never said Sam had to be in the driver seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, We gonna mess with Sam and Dean's relationship! Again! :D Isn't this just SO FUN!???  
> I wish I could write them happy, I do, but they are determined to be angsty angsters.  
> Anyways. Enjoy!

 

Dean knows every one of Sam’s moods. When he’s cranky. When he’s hungry. When he needs to go read a damn book and calm the hell down. When he’s feeling randy. When he’s - Okay, maybe a bit much. 

_ The point  _ is Dean knows how to read his brother better than Sam knows how to read Sam. 

So when his brother goes out for dinner one night, needing some ‘alone’ time and doesn’t come back till late - he just chalks it up to being pissy about something and not wanting Dean to pry. He had been smelling a little like zoo-animal-trapped-in-an-enclosure-and-bored. Living in motel rooms and the back of the Impala leaves very little room for privacy. Almost none, really. Or. Sam doesn’t have privacy.

Sam believes in being a ‘good person’ and not ‘prying’. 

Dean on the other hand will totally pry; so on one hand... he gets it - on the other hand it pisses him off. When Sam isn’t right next to him, anything could happen to either one of them. Not like he would ever say that out loud, of course, but still.

So it’s late. 

Sam’s not back. 

Fortunately, Dean hasn’t quite begun to feel the itching under his skin to go and drag him back to safety of his presence because, hello? It’s only been about two hours since he left. All in all, still, Dean’s feeling a little prickly, but not murderous..

All of those stupid emotions go out the window, when Sam comes back drenched in eau-de-demon and slams into the room.

“Sam!” Dean exclaimed, jumping up as his brother walked in the door.

A terrible horrible fear gripped Dean in its claws the second after the dumb shock leaves him and the smell fills his nose.

That was the thing about smell - since there was no wind, he hadn’t smelled it till to late. The door hadn’t helped, either. Still, the demon currently holding Sam’s body hostage was predictable. As soon as Dean jumped up to attack, or to defend himself, the demon tossed him against the wall with those stupid telepathic powers that signified a much stronger demon than he was used to dealing with.

“Awww, Dean,” the demon coo’ed with Sam’s voice. “Don’t be like that  _ puppy _ ,”

Dean shook at the shock of being slammed into the wall, and also the fear that was ripe in his soul. This was not good. This was not good at all. Mind whirling a thousand miles a minute, Dean tried to get his mind wrapped around the current situation. Never before had one of them been a demon condom. 

_ How could they not have foreseen this and blocked it? _ Dean bitterly thought.

There had to be a better way to protect themselves from demons... right?

Dean didn’t know, but he was pissed. The anger washing out the terror for a split moment.

“Get the fuck outta my brother,” 

Demon-Sam just raised a brow, a smile slithering onto his face. Dean wanted to punch him. It was such a completely un-Sam look. Arrogant and fake. Only Dean knew that a good punch wasn’t about to knock the demon out - and his teeth wouldn’t either.

“Now, Dean, is that any way to treat your new Master?”

Cold, ice water dripped down his back. Or at least it felt like it. The demon knew about familiars more intimately than most. How the fuck did the Demon know, what Sam didn’t have a clue about? Was this just one of those things that supernatural creatures knew that humans refused to pass down through the years? Could Sam hear everything? 

Dean’s mind raced as he bared his teeth. His first reaction was so ingrained in him from a threat, that he was a dog in seconds, and leaping.

The hold the demon had on him was briefly shattered and he barreled into Sam.

Now, Dean had two options:

Hurt Sam or not hurt Sam. 

One was acceptable, one was not. From there, he understood further his options. If he didn’t want to hurt Sam then he either submitted to the demon inside the body, or he ran to recruit help. Based on the fact that he would have, maximum, a day of human energy stored up (and only cause Sam had forced him to stay doggie as much as possible) both options were absolute shit.

And yet....

And yet.

One was acceptable for the simple reason that a demon wouldn’t have him in his dirty, ugly paws. 

Sam would kick his ass when he came back if he managed to get dog-napped while he was body napped. Mind made up, he waited for a moment to strike.

Demon-Sam had left the door open and he darted out when the demon thought he was going to attack. 

For all the demon could boast being Sam, he wasn’t. He spoke and Dean didn’t feel connected. There was no need, no want to obey. Dean had never felt even an inkling of wanting to obey the bellowed “get the fuck back here, FAMILIAR,” as he darted around the hotel, away from the Impala and the motel room - away.

Away...

The run was ragged, zig-zaggy, and with no clear direction. Dean just ran and ran and ran. He didn't stop. He couldn't. If he stopped, so many things could go wrong.

He dragged himself to a stop, panting, as he got far enough away from the shouting, angry spitting of the demon. It took a while, too. Miles and miles. Dean was thankful though, that he was still in city limits once he was stopped. Sure, there were more people who could see him, or stop him, but there was also cell reception.

Thankfully, he had on his necklace so when he transformed back he was still clothed.

Thank fuck he had pushed that months ago or else he would currently be naked. And without a phone. 

The world was silent, quiet, and too still around him. As if he hadn’t just run away from his brother. Even his harsh panting lessened off into just breathing - it was all wrong. Dean’s mind slowed down, to better accept what had just happened. 

Sam was demon-fied. 

A sick acid settled in his stomach that was at such odds from the pleasant smell of flowers he was standing in. 

Sam was caught up in stupid demon plot. Like usual. 

His brother, his baby brother, was caught up in a demon plot that neither of them had any clue of how to stop. And there was less than nothing Dean could do by himself. He was one familiar against a demon. A demon with a body and a clear understanding of familiar structure. That stung. It tasted foul in his mouth. He needed help.

He always needed help, he thought sourly. He never could just survive on his own. It was always something.

Feeling bitter, he grappled a phone out of his jacket, hands shaking as he leaned against the tree. 

“Bobby,” He said as soon as it was answered. “We got a situation.”

* * *

Bobby arrived exactly when he had said he would, the same time the GPS told him it would take to get to Bobby’s place from the little stripclub parking lot. Dean gave him a grateful look, and a handshake as soon as he was close enough.

“Thanks for getting here,”

Bobby just shook his head. “Where is he, Dean?”

Dean pulled his hand back from the handshake to cross his arms into his armpits, feeling completely off his game. 

“I got no fucking clue,”

Bobby raised a brow. A silent inquiry. 

“He came into our motel room and he was possessed, Bobby. Tossed me around a bit. I ran. Just like I said on the phone. I don’t know what more to tell you,”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t try and stop him?”

_ How could I? _ Dean thought, the very thought making him shiver. 

Instead he said. “It’s one of the stronger demons. I couldn’t take it by myself. It threw me into a wall and I barely got away as it is,”

The old man was smart, but he just nodded with his mouth in a harsh line.

“Lets go,” Bobby grunted. “You can tell me everything while we drive,”

Fucking Bobby, always knowing him. Dean felt guilty for trying to keep what the demon had said away from him, but... Well. How the fuck did one start that conversation? 

_ By the way Bobby, Sam isn’t just my ‘person’ like we told you a few months ago, but he has basically complete control of me. Something that all Familiars have with their ‘person’ or, more aptly, Master. You want to know if that means that applies to anyone who bonds with me? Oh you betcha! Isn’t that the best? _

Dean certainly hadn't known how to approach it with Tanner, and he was a Familiar himself. There was no way to do so with Sam, and keep his sanity. Bobby was like a father figure, on another pedestal entirely. It would have been like telling John, but... fucking ten times worse somehow.

_ Fuck _ , Dean thought,  _ was this how teenagers who got knocked up felt? Or who ran away from home and were found by their family members? Or who snuck booze?  _

Not that he had never done that last one, but the worst John had ever shamed him was for leaving his brother without protection. Or having sex without protection. This was worse.

This... this inky shame, like he wanted to throw up and turn tail and run - everything just simply too much.

It was a curse. He had no other way to live. And yet... god, it felt like the worst kind of disability. One born of an understanding that he couldn’t fight it, but just had to learn to live with it.

Nothing had ever been too much, but now he couldn’t run from his problems. 

Not successfully, anyway.

“Dean,” Bobby said, turning to Dean, as he shut them both into the beat up pickup. “We’ll get him back, but you have to let me know what we’re walking into,”

Dean sighed, aggravated, as he looked away. 

“Just drive, Bobby,” Dean said. “And I’ll tell you what I can,”

* * *

It only took twenty minutes to drive what had taken Dean almost an hour and a half to walk. In that time, Dean went over the short minute encounter with Sam. Explaining the smells, how he knew immediately it wasn’t Sam, and why he had run instead of confronted the demon. Bobby seemed sympathetic as he drove.

“We need to get that demon out of his head,” Dean snapped as they parked a little ways away from the motel. 

“We will,” 

Dean listened closely for that special heartbeat of Sam’s. The one he could hone in on without a single thought.

And found nothing.

“He’s not here,” Dean said, nose twitching as he gritted his teeth. Cue twelve hour countdown. Well. Now it was more like seven.

Bobby observed him wordlessly, but followed when Dean walked towards their motel. Sure enough, when they came to 106, the door was ajar, the light was on, and it was devoid of any heartbeat, human or animal. Dean pushed the door opened and wrinkled his nose at the smell of demon. It covered everything like a taint, like poison in blood. It stuck.

Underneath the demon-taint, was human. Clean, human Sam. Dean took a sniff, trying to decide if soaking up the last lingering scent of Sam was worth it. And decided against it. That would be suspicious.

“He left when I did,” Dean said, snorting to clear the smell. Of course it did nothing, but it felt better. “Long gone,”

Bobby was over by the table, looking at their research on the hunt they were headed towards. 

“Dangit,” Bobby whispered under his breath before turning to Dean. “If he’s gone, he’s gone, and this is going to be a bitch to find him,”

Dean looked at Sam’s duffle bag and had to agree. 

Bobby stepped outside and Dean closed his eyes in pain. Sam was trapped within his own body, hopefully unaware of everything the demon was going to use his body to do. It was his worst nightmare come to life.

“Dean,” Bobby called, and there was something in his voice that Dean had heard before. It made him run out.

“Tell me you guys parked the Impala elsewhere?”

Dean could only stare in horror at the empty parking space.

_ Great. Just great.  _ Sam was worse than trapped - he now had a car.

* * *

Dean and Bobby were not mentally connected, so every so often Dean had to transform back to his stupid human form so he could use his stupid human hands to call Bobby on his stupid human phone to give him a stupidly useless status update. He had followed the Sam-demon smelly trail as far as he could - but cars had a tendency to lock away smell. And the Impala was no different.

**_“Nothing?”_ ** Bobby asked over the phone.

“Nothing,” Dean confirmed as he sat on the large boulder he’d found. He leaned back and allowed his frustrations to air. “Fuck.”

**_“... Listen Dean, we’ll find him,”_ **

“Not soon enough,” Dean snarled, feeling his skin ripple. “Fuck Bobby, that demon could be doing anything!”

**_“I know, Dean,”_ ** Bobby paused.  **_“Come on back. Let’s regroup and figure this shit out.”_ **

Dean hung up with a heavy heart. 

Everything was a mess. Sam was trapped in his own body, Dean had five or six hours left of humanity. Bobby was suspicious as hell, and a hunter to boot. And that fucking demon was just an asshole. A stupid, whispy bit of smoke and evil.

Dean stared out, unseeingly as he let his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. 

Sam shouldn’t be in this position. Never. He should be at college, rather than a demon condom. He should be free. He shouldn’t have to deal with any of this shit. Not the demon shit. Not the hunter shit. And not the familiar shit.

With a sigh, Dean slumped.

Sam didn’t even know how deep he was in with Dean either. And he wouldn't, if Dean had anything to say about it. But, Dean didn't have to say anything.

Dean promised himself that if he could just get Sam back, he would personally drive back with Bobby to get those Familiar tombs.

The phone rang as he got up to walk away. 

“Come on Bobby, I’m coming, I’m coming-”

It wasn’t Bobby’s number, but Sam’s. Dean stared at his phone dumbly for a moment and tried to decide if he was going to answer, when, on the second ring it stopped. His heart skipped a beat. What - the fucking demon wasn’t going to -

The phone rang again. Sam’s number flashing.

Fuck their code.

Dean answered the phone and placed it against his ear. For a moment there was nothing.

_ “Hiya Dean,”  _

It had that quality of Sam’s voice, but not. This was still the demon.

“Demon,” Dean said, trying to extend his senses to hear what was happening in the background. It was fuzzy and static and ugh. They needed to work on this. “Let my brother go.”

_ “Ahhhh, I don’t know about that Dean. Your brother makes a pretty tight meat suit, if I do say so myself.”  _

“Fuck you.”

_ “Didn’t think you’d be down for that, kinky- “ _ Dean growled audinly.  _ “Ha! Calm down, fuzzy bear. Not gonna hurt ya," _

"Sure, completely believeable,"

The demon chuckled.

_ "I don’t want to have to hurt you. Familiars are rare enough I’d have to be seriously brain damaged to hurt you. Don’t think I won’t, though. As much as you’d be an added bonus, I’m demon enough to admit that doesn't matter. And if I have to, I’ll kill you,” _

A shiver went up Dean’s spine.

It was quiet for a tick.

“What do you want?” Dean asked, trying to keep the growl out of his throat. The demon had Sam. He was calling instead of taking him off to where-the-fuck-nowhere. He had to play nice.

For now.

_ “That’s better, puppy,” _

Dean’s nails stabbed into the meat of his palm as he physically stopped himself from snarling at the name. At the condescension. 

_ “One hour. Corner of Wallas and 117th.” _

Click. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Gordon wanting him had been horrible, and completely baffling. A demon wanting him was about seven times worse. The fact that the demon was wearing Sam’s entire body as a meatsuit was the crap on top of the crap-cake. And Dean couldn’t do a thing about it. 

Worst thing about it all?

He knew he’d be walking into that trap. There was no other alternative. No other way. With the demon holding all the cards, it was also more than likely he wasn’t coming out of this unscathed. Neither him nor Sam.

Dean took a deep breath.

“Bobby,” Dean said calling the older man. “I found Sam.”

* * *

####  The warehouse at Wallas and 117th was a huge, hulking abandoned thing. It smelled like the hundreds of warehouses Dean had ever gone to. Musty, with the memories of what used to be housed inside. This one, unlike many others, smelled like food storage. Only traces. Canned food had a tendency to smell like all canned food.

He walked into the old musty smell of carrots and broccoli, the memories of them anyway, until he reached the smell of rotten eggs. His lips pulled back in a snarl at the smell, but he continued on. Resolute. He felt like he was walking to his death, a funeral march the road close by, the way the bats screeched in the rafters, and how he could hear Sam’s o’ so familiar heartbeat.

_ Was this how he would always be? _   Dean wondered, feeling like this life just kept spinning towards one inevitable thing.

Him walking towards Sam, who was as dangerous as anyone could be, perhaps more so, and getting fucked over for his trouble? Sam would never know, Dean would never tell him, just how often the danger to Dean was Sam. 

As he saw not-Sam, he resolutely promised himself Sam would never know.

“Demon,” Dean stated, stopping a few meters away from Sam’s body. “Let my brother go,”

“Oh yes, sure, let me get right on that,” The demon rolled Sam’s eyes. “Really, Winchester?”

Dean shrugged, feeling cold.

“Worth a shot.”

“I suppose,” The demon said, with a chuckle, stalking forward with Sam’s long legs. 

He drew nearer and nearer and Dean hated the fact that their stupid bond was making him excited. Only good things had ever been associated Sam (a lie). He wasn’t about to let this demon make it not-so.

“Having a body again has been a fucking-blast,” the demon said, with Sam’s voice and Sam’s smile of ‘I’m having such a good fucking time’. 

Their bond was going wild with satisfaction at being close, and the demon fucking knew it, too.

“Listen, Demon,” Dean said, very carefully not snarling. “I couldn’t care less. Get out of my brother,” 

Sam was only a few feet away now. Dean couldn’t escape. He knew that coming in, but he wasn’t terribly worried. 

“You really shouldn’t have come, puppy,” The demon smiled big. It looked horrible and awkward on Sam’s face. “You should have run and run and left your brother to his fate,”

Dean would never have done that.

The demon knew that.

“I’m only asking once more,” Dean said. “Get. Out. Of. Sam.”

“Nah,” the demon said, stalking forward. “Don’t think so.”

Dean let his knife fall into his palm. So the hard way. He lunged at demon-Sam, but the scuffle that happened was short and brutal. Dean unable, he found, to throw himself fully against his brother. Unexpected in how easily he went down. Quickly disarmed, quickly brought against Sam’s chest, and knife at his throat. He had a chance, against a stranger, perhaps, but this was Sam. His eyes, his nose, his sense of touch were thrown. This was supposed to be his brother. His partner. To hurt him, was impossible. And not because he literally couldn’t, but because he felt his hands physically stop.

He couldn’t go against him.

Fuck.

He froze under the demon’s hands. Those same hands that were Sam’s. The smell underneath the sulphur comforting. Exactly when it shouldn’t be.

For a long second that lasted and froze, Dean was kept at the mercy of the Demon. 

Then he was let go. 

He stayed where he was, well aware that he had just had his ass solidly handed to him. And he now knew he couldn’t really fight back, not against Sam. His entire body fought against the slump that was trying to worm its way down his spine. To flop against Sam and just accept.

A complication, as surely as breathing underwater was. 

“I think I figured it out,” demon-Sam said, ignoring, as he circled Dean. “Why you were able to get away before. Why you didn’t listen...”

“I would think it’s pretty simple why,” Dean snarled right back. Some of the fire banked. “You’re just inhabiting Sam’s body, you aren’t him,”

“Oh, but aren’t I?” 

And then, it was like the demon shifted. His - for lack of a better word that fit - aura flared differently, like he was -

His nose was filled with more of the sweet, musky scent of Sam. Dean’s heart beat right up into his throat. 

This was Sam.

“Dean, let’s not play coy,” And it was Sam’s voice. No hint of the demon. “Now  _ sit _ ,”

_ Well _ . Dean thought to himself, dazed, kind of like he was just sucker punched.  _ Fuck _ .

And he sat.

* * *

With the psyhic twins, the orders had been abrupt, heavy handed, and impossible to escape. With Sam’s voice, it was as easy as breathing, a command that was much more a piece of advice, leading.

Sam had never ordered him to do anything. He never would. Dean realized like an epiphany on his knees. 

Not like the demon had commanded. The power in his voice a physical, grabbing thing. Sam only ever guided, suggested, and always asked for opinions. He never forced. Sam was used to being a follower in a fight, or to follow, and he led like he wasn’t sure why Dean followed. He was all hesitant half-steps, and caution, like sniffing the wind when it changed direction before barreling into a monster to make sure it didn’t have friends.

Dean was his elder brother. Sam would never presume to order him around.

There was just some things that a lifetime of living as brothers couldn’t break.

Too bad this wasn’t Sam.

“There we go,” Not-Sam said, stalking forward with a crow of trumphiant glee. Dean on his knees. “That wasn’t so bad was it? Answer ‘Yes, Meg’,”

The answer was pulled from his throat.

“Yes, Meg,”

At least he knew who the fuck which demon was fucking with him.

The demon used Sam to crouch in front of where Dean was knelt. 

“You know,  _ they  _ said this wouldn’t work,” Not-Sam said, reaching forward with Sam’s hand. Grabbing Dean by his chin. “ _ They _ said that the body was separate from the mind, and that tapping into that without permission from the host was as impossible as trying to use the host to pray. Yet, here we are.”

Dean bared his teeth, ready to snap - except he couldn’t because this was Sam, and he wasn’t going to hurt Sam. That seemed to be one thing the demon wasn’t sure about.

“Don’t even think about it,” Not-Sam’s eyes flashed black. 

Like a clamp had been wound around his jaw, Dean’s mouth shut with a jarring  _ clang  _ that almost gave him a headache. His teeth hurt. His growl turned into a groan as his own body turned against him at the bidding of Sam.

No. Not-Sam.

Demon.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean spat, through clenched teeth.

“Course not, wouldn't want to hurt little Sammy, your little master,” The demon’s eyes brightened. “But that’s okay, isn’t it? I won’t need his body forever, after all,” Meg brought Sam’s other hand up and pet his short hair back. It was like Gordon, and Andy, and Webber. What the hell was it about him that said ‘pet me’? It was a soothing rhythm, one that was familiar, and it turned his stomach at how easily he wished to just melt into it. “Just need to get you alone for long enough, a couple hours to get to the ritual space.  _ Easy _ .”

As if Dean hadn’t been around Gordon. He knew what Meg was going to try to do. How successful a demon could be was to be seen but... being bound to someone made him want to rip his own arm off. 

“The second you’re out of Sam, I’m fucking ripping you to pieces,” Dean said.

She kept petting. 

“That’s cute puppy,” Meg said. “But that not going to happen. You’re going to sit here while I -”

Bobby finally came up behind it then, and brought his gun down on not-Sam’s back. With a startled, unhappy grunt Sam’s body was thrown forward next to Dean. His eyes blew black and he snarled, turning back to Bobby. Bobby already had his gun coming back down and he hit Sam once more. 

Dean couldn’t move, much as he tried.

Sam’s orders were the absolute sun in Dean’s universe and he orbited without fail, even taken over by a demon. The most he really got was his hands moving, but even that didn’t translate into feet movement. He couldn’t get off his knees, and gritted his teeth as Bobby went back in for another attack. 

Sam whipped around and attacked Bobby. But this wasn’t Bobby’s first rodeo. He threw a bottle of holy water in Sam’s face, causing the demon to scream and stagger back, smoke whisping around his head.

“You fucking -” 

And the next hit succeeded in knocking Sam out cold.

As soon as the demon hit the ground, the spell over Dean broke.

Bobby stood over the unconscious Sam, Dean could smell the ripe-sour smell of distaste and uncomfortable truth. Dean had told Bobby what was happening, but actually seeing it... that was entirely new. Dean knew, even if he was the party who had to obey, it was uncomfortable for him too. Perhaps worse. 

Who was to really tell?

“Alright,” Dean said, not meeting Bobby’s eyes. “Now what?”

He forced himself to get up off his knees, and felt the unsettling need to drop right back down. Even unconscious, it seemed an order echoed. And Sam could make him drop down to his knees at a second of minor insistence. 

Dean tried not to feel ill.

* * *

Tied to a chair, nobody really looked like a threat, but somehow - the demon pulled it off. Sam pulled it off.

He came back from unconsciousness without any groaning, moaning, or loose movements. One second he was down, the next he was awake. Black eyes shining and bleak and  **angry** . Not-Sam smirked.

“Untie me, Dean,” Meg said.

It was Dean’s turn to smile. He read Sam’s lips and just shook his head with a smile, pointing to his ears where he had shoved a wad of cotton balls dipped in alcohol. A pair of cheap headphones added to the look, with stupid music blasting. With how sensitive they were, he had to actually hurt himself to get them to turn off, but it was worth it to see the dawning understanding. 

Not-Sam’s smile slipped right off his face into a truly impressive scowl. 

“Now that’s dirty pool,” The demon said, looking over at Bobby. “Come on, don’t be a party pooper!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Bobby said, getting out his book. 

“So, it’s just you and me then, huh Singer?” The demon asked, with a wicked grin. “The familiar can’t hear us?”

Bobby dropped any good humor. 

“Well, that’s for the best. Probably,” The demon said, tugging at the ropes. “You know this body isn’t made to last. You know he’s going to die. Sooner, rather than later. And where does that leave poor little Dean?” 

“Dean will be fine.”

“Poor little familiar without a master to keep him sane and happy? Poor little puppy free off his leash?” The demon grinned even bigger. "Or is he?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes. Dean followed, but that was because Sam’s lips weren’t moving any more. It was like the demon was hissing. Speaking only to Bobby. The demon cocked it’s head.

“You seriously never wondered?” Meg asked, eyes snapping to Bobby and his book. Unconcerned. “The power? The willingness? You never wondered why Witches fight over Familiars? Never wondered why Witches with Familiars are so much harder to fight?”

“Nope,” Bobby lied. Dean could smell it. Hear it, too, but without the other half of the conversation he was lost.

“Well, you’ll get your chance,” Meg said. “Sam’s not exactly destined for a long life, is he?”

Not-Sam smirked again as Dean and Bobby steeled themselves. 

Bobby grit his teeth in a simile of a smile.

Not-Sam just continued. “He’ll need to be Bound. He’ll be beggin for it. And can you really say he’ll go to anyone else? Can you trust anyone else with him?”

Bobby was still.

“He’s a weapon, Singer.” The demon sat back, smug and satisfied. “Only matters who’s the one pulling his trigger.”

It was startling silent.

Dean looked between the two of them. At a loss. He had only heard Bobby’s side, the demon silent, hissing out the sound of words too silent for Dean to hear. But Bobby looked gaunt and unhappy, like what the demon had said had hit home.

“Bobby?”

Bobby just snarled. “We’re getting this fucker out of Sam,”

Finally something that makes sense. Dean smiled and turned to the demon. Bobby started exercising but the demon had only eyes for Dean. Meg’s smile on Sam was disturbing and made Dean’s own smug, arrogant smile drop. They may have won this round, but this was a demon. Something that was ancient, and evil, and born to be unpleasant.

There would be another round.

“I’ll be seeing you later, puppy,” Meg said, right before opening Sam’s mouth and exiting in a puff of dark, roiling smoke. It left through the rafters.

Sam slumped like a puppet with its strings cut. Unconscious and flopping. 

Dean worked the cotton out of his ears, and the sounds that rushed back in weren’t exactly comforting. Not like the silence had been. Bobby’s heartbeat is steady and loud, like Sam’s heartbeat is steady in sleep. But everything else about Bobby is loud. That’s kind of how Dean knows someone is old. The creaking of the body, the heaviness of the breath. And the smell.

Bobby smelled like uncertainty and uncomfortable sweat.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said finally as he crossed the circle to crouch next to Sam. He couldn’t untie him until he woke up, but being near Sam was comforting.

“I’m always here for you boys,” 

His scent mellowed. Less aggressive. 

“... What did the demon say before you ganked him?”

Bobby’s smell soured, his heart stumbled.

“Nothing you need to know,”

Dean frowned at the lie, but he couldn’t question him anymore.

Which is when Sam took the moment to wake up. Groggy and unsteady, he stretched in his bonds. Which woke him up rather quickly. He stiffened before his head snapped up. Being tied up was never a good thing. Still, he saw Dean and Bobby and blinked in shock.

“Whu-” He said, blinking stupidly. “What happened?”

“Hey there champ,” Dean said, with a smile he wasn't feeling. “Take a drink of this, wouldya?”

Bobby handed him the glass of holy water. 

Sam stared at him but took a sip. As soon as he did, Dean began untying him. Once one hand was done, he handed him the glass. “Drink that. You’ll probably be thirsty,” 

Sam was. 

He drank the entire time Dean was undoing his bonds, and once the final rope fell, and the glass was empty, Sam began to ask questions. 

“What happened?

“You don’t remember anything?”

Sam shook his head no.

“You were possessed by a demon,”

His brother paled dramatically. And then all the questions that he needed answers to came out in a flood.

_ What did I do? Where are we? What did the demon do? Who did the demon kill? Are you okay Dean? How did the demon get into me? How long? _

He met Bobby’s eye once before he started answering. A warning and understanding all wrapped in one. Bobby wouldn’t say a single thing, but the frown told him he didn’t agree with it. Dean answered each and every one carefully, but not like he was being careful to answer, just as if he was answering without thought. 

**We don’t know. In a warehouse. It’s only been a day, there was no way a demon could do that much damage in a day.** **_I’m fine._ ** **We don’t know. We don’t know. We don’t know...**

He smiled reassuringly as Sam frowned and he helped Sam toddle up onto his two jello legs. Made sure he didn’t give a single thing away. How scared he had been. How... how helpless.

Dean was pretty proud of himself for not flinching as Sam wound his arm around his shoulder. Contact was initiated by him, and Dean was a little hesitant to wait for the moment when Sam would reach out to him like he did daily, Whether for a pet, or to scratch his ears, or to pat him on the shoulder. 

He was already pretty messed up from Gordon, though he had beat back most of the symptoms of feeling creepy-crawlies tingle down his spine when he didn’t want anyone looking at him, or touching him.

* * *

Bobby left and promised he would have the books for them all set aside when they came for them.

In the Impala, driving away, Dean can’t help but feel uncomfortable. And it’s a new feeling when aimed at his brother. Sam is uncomfortable, too, but it’s mostly because he just spent the last day as a demon-condom. And he has no knowledge of what the did. Which Dean is thankful he knows nothing about because it’s awkward enough having to meet his eyes without wanting to shy away like some kind of beaten dog when Sam reaches for the keys.

He wasn’t a victim. There was no abuse. He was just... unsettled.

Unsettled to both look at Sam and to hear his voice. 

It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t stop from flinching when Sam started speaking. 

“I’m starved,” It was an olive branch, and a way for Sam to get out of his head.

It was a threat.

No. It wasn’t. 

But it was. 

But it wasn’t. 

Dean’s fingers gripped the steering wheel sharply, making them whiten at the force.

_ This will pass,  _ Dean thought to himself, while answering. “Saw a great dinner off of 43. Probably got great pie!”

And if Dean babbled, Sam didn’t call him out on it. He was talking for the both of them, at the moment. Just like Sam would if the situation was reversed. Sam looked at him, saw him, but didn’t ask any questions. He just observed.

Dean decided, that was better. 

* * *

A lot had happened to Dean, and it took about a week for it all to catch up to him. It’s not all at once, either.

It's a slow insidious crawl inside his guts.

It’s all too much. Dean is exhausted constantly. Everything seems to suck the strength right out of him. Talking with people, listening to people, letting people touch him - it’s everything he had once gotten used to and everything he hates. He can’t even stand when Sam reaches out to pet him, an unconscious gesture born for the same actions repeated day after day. It used to be nice, soft, an action born of fondness - and still was. Except every reach of his hand is not as simple as that. 

It’s not Sam’s fault that Dean flinches back. It’s just everything kind of... happening at once.

He remembers Webber snatching control from his hands like taking candy from a baby, he remembers Gordon’s weird obsession with him, he remembers Meg taking over Sam and making him submit, and now it’s exhaustion making his physical responses echo a past that is just that - the past.

The flinch that comes over his whole body is unconscious and unwillingly drawn out of himself.

The way Sam stares at him, though... That’s heartbreaking.

Both froze.

_ :I - : _

“Don’t do that Dean,” Sam said, his voice a lot quieter than it should be. Dean flinched. “How long has that been going on?”

Dean hunched up, suddenly unable to stand being a dog, transforming and turning away. “It’s nothing,”

“Hey, don’t do that,” Sam reached out again, but he pulled his hand back at the last second. “Come on Dean, talk to me... That was a pretty violent reaction.”

“You just caught me off guard,”

“Bullshit, you can hear me coming a mile away,” 

Dean clenched his jaw and looked away. He had heard him, but that helped nothing.

Sam sighed. “Just... why the reaction?”

Dean was silent, unsure how to put it into words when he’d been avoiding it for so long. 

“Come on Dean,” 

And it’s not a command. It’s a request. Soft, and it's the exact opposite of everyone else.

“People just...  **touch** me now,” It snapped out like a whip. Bitter and biting, more so than Dean was even aware he could be. And Sam just listened. His heart pounding as Dean spoke, but not interrupting. “When I’m a dog, everyone just pets me. They’ll coo, and stoop down to my level, and just reach their stupid hands out and - “ He mimed it, before he couldn’t keep his hands up - and they flopped back down, fingers clenching. “It was weird for a while, and then I got used to us, and then it... it just gets tiring.”

Sam was silent. Dean couldn’t look at him.

“And it’s not like I don’t like it,” Dean stressed. “It feels good, okay? Scratching behind the ear is... there aren’t words to describe the feeling. It’s just... I don’t know how to tell them to  _ fucking stop _ .”

“I - I didn’t know Dean,”

Dean turned to see Sam looking gutted.

Aw. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to make him feel bad! This was all on him, not on Sam.

“No, I - Listen Sam - “

“No, stop,” Sam held out his hand. “We’ve been getting better about talking about our shit but... This is a really big blindspot. Let’s talk this out. Okay?”

Dean felt stiffen like a board, but he nodded. Sam loved talking, and Dean would do anything to stop this stupid horrible feeling. And if that was talking, Dean was ready to do it. A little. At least a tiny bit.

“You don’t like it when people touch you without permission?”

“...It’s complicated.”

“No, Dean, yes or no.”

“I don’t like it when people touch me like they know me. Like I’m a dog and I’m cute, and they want to just pour all their love and attention on me cause I’m an animal,”

Sam looked thoughtful, still a little pale, but thinking.

“You flinched when I pet you. Do you not like it when I touch you?”

“It’s not fucking  **you** !” 

It was a snap and Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. As if he could hear all the underlying emotions, or smell that Dean was being horribly truthful, and agonizingly honest. Then his eyes brightened in understanding.

“The demon.”

Dean turned away. Sam’s scent changed to  _ enlightenment _ .

“Fuck sake, Sam - “

“No. Not just the demon... Gordon?”

Dean didn’t know why he was so emotionally constipated, but he just couldn’t speak the words like Sam seemed to infer them. And he hated that he couldn’t stop himself from stiffening, a clear ringing alarm that Sam had hit the nail right on the head.

“... Who else?”

And now Sam was the one who was angry. Dean didn’t have to say anything.

“Andy and Webber, right?” When Dean said nothing he cursed. 

“... That witch who took you in?”

“No! Irene wasn’t like them,”

It wasn’t like Dean could say the whole world. Not everyone had been horrible. Irene for one. Those Indiana witches who had just been dumb kids. Young kids who just wanted cuddles. It wasn’t all bad, but the bad certainly left it’s mark.

“Damnit, Dean!” Sam said without heat. “What can I do?”

Dean looked at him, feeling pity. This was his battle, but Sam was certainly going to have to watch him suffer.

“Sam, you can’t do anything. This is just the way life is,”

“Bullshit. This has to stop.”

Dean raised a brow. “What, are you going to get my a new vest that says ‘don’t pet, dangerous’ rather than the whole service dog one?”

“If that’s what we have to do, sure, let’s do that,”

And he was dead serious. 

Dean was startled that he was shocked at how earnest Sam was, and how quick Dean had been to dismiss him. And his feelings, really. 

“... That’s a lot of work,”

For so little pay back.

“It’s really not Dean,” Sam said. “Consent is important. Even if you spend most of your time as a dog, it doesn’t mean we can’t forget you’re a human at your core. You’re not a monster, Dean.” Dean thought that was stupid, but he said nothing as Sam pointedly stared at him.

“Fine.”

“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Can I still pet you when you’re a dog, Dean?”

“Yes!” Dean bit out.

Sam raised a brow. Dean looked away. 

“And you won’t react like you did?”

“...I don’t know,”

“I can keep my hands to myself, you know, Dean, you don’t have to protect me.”

“It’s not protecting you!” Dean said, for what felt like the tenth time. He felt flushed and ducked his head. “I like it when you pet me, alright? I just... I’m getting over everything else.”

“Then we’ll work at it together,” Sam assured. “I won’t let anyone pet you. We’ll do something about your collar, make it more terrifying, find out if there are any ways to tell people to stay away. Stop people from just petting you. I’ll tell anyone who asks you’re off limits. Is that a good place to start?”

Dean couldn’t meet his eye as he nodded.

It was a better place to start than Dean would have come up with. He was much more the suffering in silence type.

“Anything you want to add?”

Dean couldn’t think of anything. This whole conversation was exhausting. Then a light bulb came on, and he realized he did have one request for his new gatekeeper.

“Not children though, ok?... I don’t mind children...”

Sam stared at him.

“We’re revisiting this later.”

 

Later couldn't come far enough away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! They talk!


	18. Alien abduction's not looking so bad now, is it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is getting a little more protective of Dean every day, to the familiars exasperation. They go to investigate a death they think is a ghost, until Dean smells something sweeter than candy. From there it just kind of... snowballs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode was really fun to write! :D I've had it written for some time too, with just a few details to spruce up. Hope you guys enjoy!

It starts off innocently enough. For the past month, Dean and Sam had been traveling the country, picking up cases where they could, grabbing the books from Bobby and then Sam being absolutely completely enanmoured by them, but mostly relaxing.

Sure, sometimes Sam stares at Dean and then asks him how he is ‘feeling’ today, and tries to get him to spill his guts, but it’s actually had the opposite effect. With every very minor push for Dean to respond to Sam, Dean just keeps building up an immunity to the commands.

Granted, he’s still let a lot more slip than he’s comfortable with, but he’s not perfect.

Now Sam had started to drop terms like ‘PTSD’, and ‘anxiety’, ‘external’ and ‘internal’ trauma, and the like which just pissed Dean off more. He wasn’t damaged. He was a survivor. Survivors didn’t get to be so damaged. Survivors survived.

Still. Everything else is nice. Calm. Sam’s overbearing but Dean’s realizing that’s just going to be a new kind of Sam-ism to deal with.

This though. Well. It calls to them.

A weird death. A man dead out of a window. No foul play suspected. It was ruled a suicide. Except something was fishy. They come to investigate because something is wrong and they happen to be passing through. The usual. When Dean and Sam had started questioning people everyone talked about an urban legend that had started in the room the professor had fallen out of. A girl who had been having an affair with her professor and, after being dropped like a hot potato, committed suicide. Then afterwards she haunted the office. It was pretty standard, except the whole building didn’t smell like ghost, or ectoplasm.

It smelled like candy.

Sickly sweet. Like rotten candy, which was impossible, Dean knew, because this was such a unique smell.

“This ain’t no ghost,” Dean said, opening his mouth a little to see if that helped with the smelling. He’d seen cats and snakes do it... so why not a dog? It helped a little, but only to bring the smell to stark relief, layering his tongue.

Sam tucked his wallet back into his jacket before turning to Dean. “Really? Why do you say that?”

“This doesn’t smell like any ghost I’ve ever met,” 

Sam asked him what it smelled like and he tried his best to explain. It was an uncomplicated scent, but... baffling.

“Cotton candy?” Sam asked, incredulously.

Dean nodded before he sniffed a little more, trying to find some nuance to watch for. Except it was just overwhelming cotton candy. That had been sitting in a dumpster. And rotted. Which was... weird.

They both shared a look.

“What the fuck?”

“Hey!” A man said behind them. They turned to see the janitor they had passed on the way up. “Are you two supposed to be here?”

They both took out their badges at the same time. Sam was the only to hand his over. Dean was beginning to... develop a thing for touching people. Gordon had certainly not helped that.

“Just taking a look around,”

The janitor raised a brow, with a curious look. “Really? You guys are here for that professor who killed himself? Seriously?”

Dean heard the way the man talked. It was kind of... smooth. He didn’t flinch or flicker, either. He was steady for a man with such a ‘lower’ job. When you worked a job that other people looked down on... it made a difference to how you reacted to things. Dean had seen this kind of surety of self in a lot of people, but very rarely in the ‘help’. He hunched his shoulders to make himself smaller, smiled carefree, but he didn’t act like he was standing before important people or the FBI.

“What do you know about that?” Dean heard himself asking, head cocked, listening.

The janitor shrugged.

“Not much. I mean, I just clean up around here. And I don’t even think I was the one who was on that night for this building...” He looked thoughtful. “No. No it was Steve, for sure,”

Or maybe he was just an idiot who didn’t give a fuck. Dean couldn’t tell. Simple people were easy to read, but it made Dean paranoid about them. Just how easy they were to read made him want to read them harder. And the carefree smile made Dean want to run.

Except, not.

It was very weird.

Sam asked the janitor a few more questions, but ultimately nothing came from it. The Janitor knew nothing. They left him to his job and neither noticed the lingering gaze on Dean.

* * *

Now. Gabriel was a pretty easy going guy. Yes, he killed people, but only the _annoying_ ones. The boring ones. The ones that were so cliche they deserved their own cliche deaths - he was just being nice, ya’know? Give the people what they want. Or, whatever that quote was, give them cake. That queen had been a little off, but had been great company. But actually meeting a familiar, bound to a hunter, who was also a hunter himself...

Well. You don’t see that every day, do ya?

And not just cause Familiars were a dying breed. They were one of the ‘mistakes’ of the world that Gabriel honestly didn’t care if they were ever sorted. The monsters were annoying, (vampires were bitchy, and werewolves just refused to brush their teeth) but familiars were just **fun** people. They turned into animals, their senses were a whole lot looser than other humans, and they had less hangups. Hell, they were almost totally animals!

Gabriel always had a soft spot for animals, though most Angels didn’t know how to differentiate an animal from a human. They were very speciest.

If it wasn’t for the stupid human brain, they’d be the best of God’s creatures, hands down.

As the Winchesters left, Gabriel watched them walk and bicker back to their car, planning for a second, less sudden meeting. Familiars deserved wining and dining, after all, even if there was a very, very small chance to seduce such an interesting one from his ‘person’. And there was no doubt that the younger brother was his ‘person’. The aura around them pulsed with need, the same light blue color that twined around them, and through them, twisting around them in a tornado of opposite colors.

Gabriel was nothing if not a doer.

For once, he kind of wished he was on speaking terms with his family. He imagined Michaels face when he told him what was currently happening to his ‘future-vessel’.

That thought carried him through the day.

* * *

Sam and Dean ended up calling Bobby to see if he knew about any sweet-inclined demon or monster that liked to kill people in weird ways. Which was a bust, and went a little like this:

_“Singer.”_

Dean then explained.

Bobby sighed deeply on the other line.

_“You boys can’t find anything easy can you? Gimmie a minute,”_

A minute took an hour, with nothing to show. Bobby said he’d keep looking and get back to them with an answer, in the meantime could they just fucking sit down and find a normal monster for once? A ghost maybe? A werewolf? Dean and Sam unanimously decided to take the night to regroup at the local bar. Recon and relaxing atmosphere all in one.

“Oh yeah, come to papa,” Dean grinned down at his triple-decker burger, with extra cheese, onions, the works. He took a heaping bite and died right there. Went straight to heaven. His senses were full of grease, and delicious meat, and cheese. A heavy scent that made him want to roll around in it for hours.

“Uh, _dude_ ,” Sam said, staring.

It wasn’t Dean’s fault he got a salad.

“Man after my own heart,” The waitress snorted, her serious countenance turning into a bright grin as Dean turned to her and smiled through half his chewed food. Sam grimaced in disgust, and the woman just laughed, before slapping him on the back and leaving to her next table.

“This is _soooo good_ ,” Dean moaned as he took another, smaller bite. Savoring this time. “What kind of demon magic is this?”

Sam just shook his head at his antics, but a smile was pulling at the edge of his lips, too. They ate in silence for a while, Dean wolfing his portion down as Sam took his time. The entire time Dean distracted, while Sam was watchful.

“This is nice,” Sam said suddenly, taking a swig of his beer. It made him smell like fermented dust - but it wasn’t a bad smell.

“What’s nice?” Dean asked, distracted, ears perked as he heard someone listening to the lotto numbers being read by the radio in some car outside the bar. It wasn’t a winner by the fourth number, but the man kept listening.

“This. Us. Just hanging out,”

Dean looked and saw Sam smiling.

“We hang out all the time,”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“I mean, without a monster hunt every time we go out for a drink,” He fiddled with his beer. “It’s not often we get some downtime. Granted, I know we’re here for some weird shit but... it doesn’t feel as imminent,”

And Sam didn’t know the half of it. Didn’t know all those little secrets lodged in Dean’s brain. But to tell those secrets would change the world, and Dean wasn’t sure if he could handle the change again in such short amount of time. He already knew about the touching issue, if he figured out how he could tell Dean to go jump off a bridge, and he would, then this little tete might never happen again.

“That’s cause you just aren’t paying attention,” Dean said, but he was smiling. Hiding.

Sam let him stew.

“Yeah, alright,” Dean finally admitted. “This is nice.”

The waitress came back, effectively derailing them, but Sam didn’t mind. It was a nice, quiet night. Nothing could go wrong as long as everything stayed steady. And since Dean seemed to actually be relaxed, not on edge over a smell, or a sound, or anything.

That was short lived.

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Dean repeated, in a voice that was patent pending. “You were abducted, forced to slow dance with an alien, after they probbed you, and then dropped off... Am I getting that right?”

The night had not stayed nice. Nor did it stay steady. Nor did it stay quiet. Almost as soon as they had finished their meal, they had heard a commotion and went to investigate. Which ended up being a completely naked grad student who was gibbering and gabbering about aliens and abductions and his fear had been so real and palpable Dean had looked around for the alien suspect right then and there.

The kid just nodded at Dean’s explanation, wrapped in a shock blanket.

“It was... It was...” The poor guy kept stuttering. “I couldn’t escape. And he kept picking the weirdest songs!”

The guy was caught on that. Though Dean understood. What kind of slow dancing song was Lady in red?

Sam and Dean shared a look which simply said:

_What the fuck is going on?_

* * *

Afterwards, Dean and Sam sat and scratched their heads over the newest symptom of this monster they were hunting. They texted Bobby an update and all he had had for them was this:

[Nthing. Looking. Shut up.]

Useful. Dead, useful.

Not.

Dean had forced Sam into his newest form of moving meditation:

Throw ball, catch ball.

 _:I’m still thinking some kind of spirit that likes to fuck with people... Like a practical jokester.:_ Dean said, as he lunged into the air to snatch the ball. _:Maybe even someone who hated the jokes before death? Died over a weird joke?:_

“You said it yourself Dean,” Sam said as Dean dropped the ball at his feet. He gave Dean a few seconds head start before throwing it. “The smell doesn’t fit,”

 _:My nose isn’t the - GOT IT - be all know all,:_ Dean complained as he landed. Huffing as he brought the tennis ball back. _:It can be wrong.:_

“Usually isn’t though,”

_:Well, usually isn’t a standard we need to keep,:_

This time Dean kept the ball, so Sam would listen.

_:I mean you got a better idea?:_

Sam crossed his arms.

“Maybe.”

* * *

Sam’s bright idea was just more research. Literal, sitting down at computers and the library and going through their mythological section- research. Which was fine. Great. It worked, after all, considering Dean and Sam had both killed monster’s from knowledge gained from library books, but Dean was beginning to feel a little paranoid. Considering the last four books he had pulled out were all disguised books on angels, he felt justified. _Couldn’t that stupid vengeful spirit leave him alone in the privacy of a public library?_ He took off another one of the shelf titled: “Mythology in Europe,” that looked promising - except the very first excerpt was angels.

What the fuck.

Dean threw his hands in the air to Sam’s amusement.

“Whoa, hey. I think I got something,”

Which promptly wiped all angel-conspiracies out of Dean’s mind as he jumped over to read over Sam’s shoulder. An article was on the laptop explaining the history of the campus. Sam apparently thought it was a great find, and gushed over it as Dean listened half-heartedly.

When it turned into nothing, Dean finally begged off.

“I can’t take any more of this motel room, library table, nonsense. No offense,”

Sam waved his hand dismissively, not looking up from his screen. “Dude, do what you got to do. Let me know if you’re gonna do anything stupid, though,” He tapped his temple without look at Dean.

Dean scowled at how blase Sam was about their connection.

“Familiar-Radio.” Dean muttered to himself. “Tune on in for highlights such as: Why is there a squirrel over there? And what kind of police man smells like a whore house? And, who’s wallet is this by this trashcan?”

“I heard that!”

“You were meant to!” Dean smugly said, as he transformed outside the motel and trotted off to find his newest, latest adventure. Hopefully not filled with aliens.

_:Going to check the building,:_

Sam replied just loud enough to be heard over the computer’s whirling electrics.

* * *

Now, Dean has been a Familiar for going on almost two years. He knows how his nose works, how sensitive his ears are, and how stupid some smells are - and how truthful they are, too. Which is why he isn’t surprised to start smelling those lingering, crisscrossing rabbit-trails of cotton-candy smell.

It’s not just at the place where the professor ‘committed suicide’ but also in the middle of campus - a high traffic area. Dean even went off to troll around the open area the guy had been found after his ‘abduction’. It still smelled like candy and sickly sweetness enough to make his teeth ache.

Nose to the grindstone, Dean followed trail after trail with no end in sight. Sometimes they piggybacked on each other. Sometimes they were parallel, other times they cut right off at the middle of a sidewalk, like the thing had just up and flew away.

It was frustrating and thankless work.

 _:Ugh, I need a break,:_ Dean decided as his nose started tingling, signaling an upcoming sneezing attack.

As a human, he could usually head it off. Mostly successfully. Only if he turned as soon as it came upon him.

“Ugh,” Dean groaned, wiping his nose. He finally paid attention to where he had ended up.

It was the campus Physic building. Granted, from what Dean understood, only very few actual physic’ courses were taught in this building, and rather a whole lot of math and science instead. The smells here were as widely varied as the smaller buildings. Sometimes the cotton candy smell was thick, other times it waned. No patterns to any of it. Boys and girls rooms equally. Windows and doors a little more, perhaps, but it was hard to tell how things lingered.

“Well, they there Mr. FBI man!” It was the janitor. “What are you doing here without your partner?”

Except... he was different. The same, but there was something different that Dean couldn’t put his finger on. Like a mirage. Or maybe it was the lingering, heavy smell of cotton candy that made this interaction seem dreamlike and without a physical quality.

“Hi there, Mr...” Dean hesitated. Forgetting this name. Sam had been the one paying attention, after all.

The man smiled brightly. Guileless. “Gabriel Lewis, that’s me!”

“Well, Mr. Lewis, I’m here conducting a deeper search. We have reason to believe that the Professor did not commit suicide. At this moment, we are looking for suspects,” Dean gave him his best charming smile. “Can you remember anything suspicious?”

The janitor tapped his chin thoughtfully with a finger. “Hmmm, suspicious? Naw, I don’t think so,”

Dean hadn’t thought it would give him any useful information. He was just a janitor after all.

“Well, thank you anyway, if you think of something just give us a call,”

Since the man already had a business card with Bobby’s number on it, Dean didn’t feel inclined to say much more on the subject. He smiled at the man politely, giving a farewell nod before turning away. He made it a few steps before the man called to him.

“Hey, wait!”

Dean turned to see Gabriel much, much closer. With a new smell attached to him that Dean had never smelt before. It made Dean open his mouth a little, to better analyze the scent, but he was drawing blanks. It was a refreshing scent, so at odds with the man’s day job. More open and airy then flowery, but still on the spectrum. It reminded Dean of sleeping in a meadow, which he had totally done for the sake of doing it, and it was relaxing.

“You know, you shouldn’t be out here without your partner,” Gabriel said, only a foot away now.

“I’m fine,” Dean groused, but it was... off. Everything was off. “Sam is just taking ten. He’ll be right behind me.”

The smell lulled him into a sense of relaxedness he was not aware he could feel from smell alone. Like it was memories attached to the scent, dragging him down to a land of compliance and no-worries.

 

“Ohmygosh, you’re adorable,” The janitor said, with a big old smile. “You gotta know that?”

Dean had never felt more not-scared of someone. Not even a bunny rabbit. Usually the guys hitting on him were a little larger, very few pretty boys tried to talk. And it was strange to consider, but the man wasn’t a big hulking guy, but short and slight. Shorter than Dean, anyway. He was, also, a _pretty boy_.  

“Yeah, I’m a real catch,” Dean said, amused despite knowing he shouldn’t be feeling so loose.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Gabriel’s eyes traced over his body thoughtfully. Not creepy thoughtful, more weighing and balancing. Coming to a decision. He smiled as he started rambling seriously, but what sounded like nonsense to Dean. “You know, it’s not every day this happens. I mean, I can only remember twice in my lifetime...”

 _That a man was killed and another thought he had slow danced with an alien?_ Dean wondered.

“Oh?”

Reaching over and touching without asking was also something Dean was used to. Not happy about it, but used to it. Guys and girls both did it. Gabriel did it.

So he didn’t flinch when the man grabbed him by his biceps. At least, not until his smile turned a little sharper, his scent took a downware dive to excited and triumphant and something a little like thunder and lightning - ozone and the promise of rain - and the janitor dragged him a step closer with almost inhuman strength that threw Dean more than if the man had slapped him.

“Damn, familiar, this is getting interesting,”

Dean didn’t even have the good grace, or the ability, to tense up and fight back. He didn’t realize he should. Everything was just all... smooth.

“Nighty, night familiar,” The man said, and touched Dean’s forehead with a single finger. “Boop,”  

And then he knew no more.

* * *

 _Ugh_. Dean awoke feeling gross. Something had died in his mouth, his limbs were exhausted and he was laying on a cloud. He groaned, his heard feeling pleasantly scrambled as he blearily opened his eyes to a rather startling sight of a mirror, reflecting him laid out on top of the covers of a huge circular bed.

 _I don’t remember sleeping with anyone,_ Dean thought to himself, blinking up at his reflection that looked incredibly relaxed. _And I think I would remember mirror sex._

“Oh good!” A voice that was familiar, but most certainly a guy, and not Sam, said. “You’re awake,”

Dean was still pleasantly warm, like he’d gotten a massage. The words didn’t register right away.

A hand made its way into his hair and he fairly purred with contentment. Whoever was on the other end of that hand knew what they were doing. Lightly massaging, a good pressure of nails for scratching - if Dean had been a dog there was no way his leg wouldn’t have been thumping in pure bliss. It lasted until his mind cleared. Abruptly and all at once.

Once it did, all bets were off, and he jumped up and away.

“What the fuck!”

“Two minutes and four seconds,” The janitor said, looking at his watch, before looking back at Dean. “Still got it!”

This was all so much. Dean was still shaking the sleep - or whatever he had just done - out of his brain. He still felt like a horde of spiders were taking up residency in his mind, making webs to fog him up, but he could think clearly now.

“What the fuck are you?” Dean snarled. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“I’m Gabriel, like I introduced myself before. And no need to worry, Dean-o,” The Janitor promises. “No need to worry, at all. Want a drink?” He held up a bottle of cream soda.

Dean blinked shaking his head. He wasn’t getting a sense of danger from this being in front of him, in fact, he kind of felt like Ellen had - and he had trusted Ellen and he hadn’t regretted it since. Well except Gordon, but that man should come with his own warning label of ‘douchebag, destroys everything he touches’.

Dean also knew he was missing all his weapons. He was alone and powerless, unless one counted his senses which he didn’t. And it would probably have been useless, anyway. Still, this being had shut him down with a touch to his forehead.

“Did you poison it?” Dean heard himself asking. He was a hell of a lot more weary, but he also felt... stunted.

The man laughed, full belly, throwing back his head. “Oh heavens no, I wouldn’t do that! It’s just imported from Spain, though, so you might not appreciate that,” He poured himself a glass and then Dean. “I’ve heard you Americans don’t appreciate the finer things in life,”

He couldn’t feel danger. Not in a single action, or a single movement, even as the janitor left the cup on the very edge of the table, close enough, but far away - like he was trying to coax Dean closer.

_Was this part of being a familiar? Some monsters were dangerous, and they pinged on his radar, but others just slid on past? Did he have to learn how to find all monsters, and not just the ones that were plain old evil?_

_... Did he even want to?_

He stepped forward, knowing he should feel more weary than he was. It was just a drink...

And he could have done anything to him while he was out of it.

“Is this all you wanted?” Dean asked, hesitant to pick up the drink. “A... drink?”

“No,” the Janitor admitted, but cocked his head as Dean grabbed the glass. “I don’t usually kidnap people to have a drink with them. They come of their own volition, promise,”

And his heartbeat was steady, his scent was steady - and Dean didn’t know what the hell to trust anymore.

“You’re taking this better than I thought,”

“Not my first kidnapping,”

“Also can’t see an exit. Trapped, without knowing the lay of the land, a good idea to get the rundown from your captor,” Gabriel mused. “No reason to try running when you can’t find a place to run too.”

For some reason, that just made Dean like the guy more.

“Well, that too,”

Gabriel cocked his head.

“You can tell I mean you no harm, can’t you?” He said, abruptly, leaning onto his palm as he watched Dean. “That’s so fascinating!”

Well. Alright. That explained it. He knew Dean was a Familiar. It was hazy, but Dean remember him saying something about that before knocking him out. Somehow, Dean didn’t feel as startled as he should have. Of course that made sense. Nobody just kidnapped a regular old human - but this was three for three for Dean. He was worried he was going to get to comfortable with being snatched by dognappers.

“You know what I am?” Dean asked, resigned.

“Yup!” And then Gabriel downed his entire drink. “Pah! Such a good vintage,” He said, like he was talking about a wine. “But yes, Dean-o, certainly know you. A familiar with a Hunter brother bonded to him?” He looked like he had won the lottery. “I mean, come on! I had to see what you were like! Mono-a-mono!”

“So is this the part where you tell me your nefarious plan?”

Gabriel looked shocked.

“Oh, lordy no,” He said, offended. “I’m not **that** kind of kidnapper! Besides, you can smell I’m harmless, so what does that tell you?”

“That you can mask your scent and your intentions?”

“Wow, you’re cynical,” Gabriel said with a smile. “That’s fine. I get it. You hunt monsters for a living, it’s easy to get me confused with someone like that,”

“Oh, so you’re saying you **aren’t** the one killing all those people,”

Gabriel, and his scene, turned shifty.

“Welllll, I never said **_that_ **.” And that was an answer if Dean had ever heard one.

Dean sighed. “Is this the part where you convince me you’re misunderstood, and you’ve never even thought of killing someone, and some other bullshit like that?

Gabriel stared at him, and then started giggling. The giggling turned into a full laugh.

“Oh geesh, no way, uh nuh uhn. I would never say that. I killed them,”

Ah. Yup. There was the spine tingle. So he was a bad monster, good, solid, wonderful.

Dean sighed, but sniffed the drink. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. It didn’t even smell a little off. He took a sip and jerked back in alarm at the sensation of bubbles that were nearly as fresh as champagne. The taste was also something else. It had the base note of cream soda that he was beginning to love and crave more than alcohol, but it was like comparing apples to oranges.

Gabriel looked giddy when he looked at him.

“I know, right?”

Dean was a little unsettled how this was all going.

“Alright, so, murderer and kidnapper and fine connoisseur of soda - how’s this supposed to go?”

The man snapped his fingers and a couch appeared behind him, just as he leaned back and plopped into what was once empty air. He crossed a leg and spread his arms out wide against the back, and cocked his head at Dean.

“Well, I’ll be honest, I just wanted to talk with you,”

“... Talk.”

“It’s not often I meet a magical creature who is not self obsessed and narcissistic to the point of boring a mouse to death!” Gabriel defended himself with a huff. “It’s not weird, I swear. Just. Listen. Most familiars are all uppity dicks, bonded to idiots that couldn’t find their elbow from a Cross Road or a Demon,” he snorted. “But you, you I like. You’ve got spunk!”

“... You really just kidnapped me to talk,” Dean shook his head and took another sip of the drink. “Sam’s gonna kill you,”

Gabriel raised a brow, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Not you?”

Dean scowled at him, but didn’t feel too embarrassed or wrong footed. The janitor was right. He wouldn’t kill him.

“I think we’ve established that I don’t find you a threat,” He paused at Gabriel’s face of shock. “At least, not yet,”

“Huh,” The man said. “Alright then. Want to play some halo?”

* * *

Sam found the one Gabriel Lewis’ apartment building almost two hours after he realized Dean was gone after going to search campus. Sam had thought there was something hinky with the janitor, nothing insane, maybe some weird fetishes or something - but then he felt like Dean was in danger. This had only happened once before, and that had been with Gordon. When the bastard had knocked his brother out and dragged him to his car to take him away. Even unconscious, Dean had transmitted to Sam that he was in ‘deep, deep shit’.

The only reason he had even began searching for the man’s residency was because of a security tape he had found. Gabriel Lewis has said he was not on duty that night, but the tape showed him in front of the building, working, the night that the professor had died. Now, it could have been a coincidence, but that was around the time that Dean had felt off in their bond.

In a blind panic, Sam strapped on his gun and holster, and booked it. It took him a further ten minutes to reach the place, and another five to find the man’s apartment number from the man at the desk.

He felt his heartbeat damn near beating out of his chest as he took the stairs three at a time, already imagining the worst.

This would be the third time Dean had been taken against his will in a year!

A YEAR!

Sam was almost tempted to chip Dean. At least then he would always know where he was, and what he was getting into, and everything else that could possibly happen to a familiar in the big, wide world. The vets would be on his side. All he had to do was drag Dean as a dog into the clinic. Dean would never transform in front of someone not in the know unless it was absolutely needed... Seriously - were familiars that rare that everyone just wanted a piece of his brother?

Sam was getting tired of this, but he also was resigned. They still had so much left of the year... what the hell else could happen?

It was with that thought as he walked through the hallway looking for the right number, 6969, that he heard a kind of low groaning.

“DEAN!” Sam called in what Dean called his ‘cop’ voice.

There was a muffled thumping, as if movement. And that was enough for Sam.

He burst into the door without a single qualm and pointed his gun at the first thing that moved. It just so happened that that was Dean. Dean who was standing in front of a fridge, a once-plastic covered bowl of pasta salad, or at least, Sam thought it was pasta salad but he was pretty sure he saw smarties, splashed all across the floor.

They froze. Staring at each other.

“Bahahah!” The janitor laughed from his couch position with an xbox controller in his lap as he writhed in pure enjoyment.

“What the fuck, Dean?”

Dean raised a hand wearily, as the gun was still pointed at him. Sam quickly pointed it to the man on the couch.

“In my defense, I didn’t know the door was there?”

“Didn’t know the - what are you talking about?”

“And I was hungry?”

“Dean, what is going on?”

The janitor called out, finally catching his breath. “Give him a break, Sammy boy, I kidnapped him. I also hid the door so he couldn’t see it. So lighten up!”

Sam’s mind was spinning a thousand miles a minute, but what he caught came to a head in his mind as such: Sammy boy. Kidnapped. Dean was kidnapped. Door, hidden. Not by wallpaper, or physical things. Magic.

This was the murderer.

Sam resolutely pivoted on his foot and shot three times in rapid succession.

Except it didn’t hit. Where the man had been was just thin air. The bullets landed in the wall opposite and Sam quickly spun on his heel to try and find where the man had gone. Instead he was met with Dean’s supremely unimpressed face.

“He’s not going to hurt us, dude,”

Sam’s mouth dropped. This coming from Dean? The very definition of shoot first ask questions later?

“That’s sweet of you Dean-o, to defend me to your brother, but I don’t think he’s gonna buy it,”

Gabriel was on the counter, sitting and and eating a bowl of ice cream with an obscene amount of chocolate and vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, marshmallows, and fudge. Sam felt completely useless as he dropped his hand, and the gun, down.

“Oh shut up,” Dean said, turning more fully to Sam. “He’s the one killing the people, but I’m not getting the heeby-jeebies from him. So I don’t think he wants to hurt me. Or you, it would seem. And - he’s pretty strong. If we’re gonna kill him we probably need a better plan than that,” He looked at the gun in Sam’s hand pointedly.

That was, singularly, more words Dean has spoken now than in the past month since his last kidnapping.

“Please tell me you’re not like, developing stockholm syndrome or something?”

Dean looked offended. Gabriel cackled with a gob full of ice cream.

“I’ve been gone three hours. Max!”

Sam just raised a brow.

“We’re leaving,” Dean told Gabriel as he snatched something from the fridge. “Let’s go Sam,”

“Wait, we’re not going to kill him?”

Dean just shook his head.

“Hey, Gabriel, do we currently possess the tools to kill you?”

Gabriel shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and answered through it. “Nbot Ohnm Yhour blifhk.”

Which Dean though, and Sam echoed, meant ‘not on your life’.

With a rather pointed look, Dean used his arms to air-point to Gabriel’s entire self as if to ask, ‘see’?

This was honestly the most fucked up day Sam could remember. Dean was being nonchalant with a murderer, who had kidnapped him, and was eating out of his fridge. Said murderer was eating candy and laughing at them - oh and apparently couldn’t be killed??

WHAT WAS HAPPENING?

“You know, what? Whatever!”

And Sam turned. And Sam walked away.

* * *

“Huh,” Dean said, popping the thin-mint in his mouth. Somehow, even if it was a regular old girl-scout cookie, it was the single best thing Dean had ever eaten. “That went about like I expected.”

“Oh, for sure,” Gabriel garbled past another scoop of ice cream. “By the way, as soon as you leave this room, you’ll be free to feel however you want,”

Dean just hummed, wondering if the heavy footing, erratic heartbeat, and Sam’s lingering baffled scent should be affecting him more. Then he stopped.

“Wait. What?” He turned to Gabriel.

“I’ve been minorly suppressing your fear and danger responses,” Gabriel said. “Not a lot. You still wouldn’t feel all that threatened by me, familiars generally don’t get twitchy with my ‘kind’ as a rule, but I made sure you’re just feeling chill,”

‘My kind’ didn’t sound good. Especially since there seemed to be more of him.

“Drugs are not cool,” Dean said, instead of berating him. He felt nice. Like he was on a cloud. “I walk out the door and it fades, huh?”

“Yup. Like a summer rain. Gone before ya know it,”

“So I would totally have tried to kill you by now if you hadn’t messed with my mind?”

Gabriel leveled him a look.

“You’re a hunter, kid, of course you would have,”

“Yeah. Alright. That’s fair.”

He weighed what he was feeling, versus what he knew he should be feeling. Weighed it all and realized something. This wasn’t right.

And then he bolted out the door.

* * *

As soon as his foot struck the outside floor, it was like a veil came down. Or off. Or. Something. He turned to give Gabriel a piece of his mind, maybe a bullet from his (he now realized empty holster) gun, except the door was gone. Like it had never been there before. He pressed on the wall, but it felt flat, and solid, and not like a mirage.

It didn’t smell like a mirage either.

He exited the apartment with hunched shoulders as he looked for Sam. He didn’t have far to look, because the Impala was over parked haphazardly. Without a word spoken, he slipped into the passenger seat. He was embarrassed, and a little bit confused.

“He’s gone. I think?”

“What happened in there?”

“I don’t know... He mojo’ed me. It was like I wasn't feeling it.”

“Can we just forget this entire day happened?”

“Gladly and immediately,”

* * *

When they came back the next day, armed to the teeth, there was no trace of the man - creature - monster.

Dean didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Third time kidnapped, Dean,” Sam sighed behind him as they stood in the empty apartment. “Once is a coincidence. Two is a pattern. Three is just... crazy. What is it about you that makes crazies lose their fucking minds?”

Dean looked at the fridge and then the couch where he and the Janitor-not-janitor had played xbox. It left a weird feeling inside his stomach. Sure, he’d been mojoed, but it wasn’t like with Gordon. He hadn’t been shoved into a cage, and leashed, and petted like he was a real-dog. The janitor had treated him like a fascinating human, but a human. They’d play’ed xbox, eaten candy, and essentially vegged. They’d talked. Had it not been with someone who had kidnapped him, it would have been his best day in a while. Almost too friendly, but Dean wasn’t in the habit of making friends. Especially against his will.

“I don’t know,”

Sam frowned at him severely. And it was usually Dean who was so observant and called out people.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Dean froze, shoulders hunching up.

“What could I possibly be keeping from you?” He asked, turning to Sam with a hard stare. “I mean, I don’t know what makes people want me so bad. At least... monster’s anyway. I get humans, especially if Gordon shared any of his books with people but monsters and supernatural shit...” He shivered, remembering the demon. Sam didn’t need to know how susceptible he was. “Man, I don’t know.”

For the first time, Dean watched doubt bloom on Sam’s face in associating with his familiarness.

Dean had to turn around to stop himself from snapping something that would confirm everything in Sam’s head.

* * *

They find a lost spirit on the side of the road afterwards and send her off to rest the only way they knew how. Salting and burning her bones, so that she wouldn’t be trapped in a loop for eternity, driven insane by it all. Dean knows he should feel something for the woman, pity or whatever, but he doesn’t. He just feels like they did a good thing. Freed a soul.

“Burger?”

“More like _salad_ ,”

“Euhgh. I didn’t ask to be tortured.”

Things were looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooo, we're getting to the final stretch.  
> I have two more episodes left to write, the very very end and the Djinn epside.  
> Three are done and need to be edited and finished up.  
> Anything you guys are itching to see? Anything that would make this story for you guys? Any burning questions? :D  
> Hope you guys enjoyed this one!


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